


The Stars Appear

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accepting Dean Winchester, Accepting Sam Winchester, Agender Hannah (Supernatural), Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, Coming Out, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Genderfluid Anna Milton, Getting to Know Each Other, Homoromantic Castiel (Supernatural), Love Confessions, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Minor Donna Hanscum/Jody Mills, Miscommunication, Mistaken Identity, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Rating May Change, Singer Castiel (Supernatural), Singer Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Songwriter Dean Winchester, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-01-05 06:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 106,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18360947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: When Dean Winchester meets Cas down at his favourite bar, he thinks he's just met a perfectly normal guy. A blue-eyed, very handsome normal guy he has an instant crush on, sure, but definitely a normal guy.However, after hearing Dean sing, Cas invites Dean to an exclusive audition for the hottest show coming to town - the concert of the internationally famous pop singer who always wears a mask to hide his true identity, the elusive Castiel. Dean doesn't even like Castiel's songs, and definitely doesn't do singing outside of late-night karaoke at the bar. But going to the audition is his only chance of ever seeing Cas again...An AU based on the video "When Adele Wasn't Adele".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came into being because of the wonderful Fic Facer's Charity Auction, and more specifically the AMAZING [somekindafreak](https://somekindafreak.tumblr.com/), who generously donated to win a fic written to their preference and who has since been the embodiment of kindness and patience as events conspired to make life difficult. Thank you SO MUCH for setting me down the course to write this fic, and for your thoughtfulness, and for everything, you freaking stellar person, you. <3
> 
> This is a teaser chapter and I will be updating on a weekly basis! The next update will be 12th April, with a considerably longer first chapter. I love this story to pieces and I can't wait to share it all AAAH. I hope you enjoy friends!

In a big, soulless grocery store, Dean hovered in an empty aisle under the strip lights, and stared at the racks of magazines.

He saw shining cars, and shining seas lapping at white-sand beaches, and shining yards of exposed tan skin on women with smoky eyes - and, right in the middle at eye level, he saw a blanked-out face. Dean frowned, and picked out the magazine so that he could read the cover.

 _Castiel,_ it read. _Will he ever face the music? Pop powerhouse talks guys, sellout shows, and why he may never show his face._

Dean stared down at it for a long second.

And then he snorted, and stuffed it back into the rack, and picked out a car mag. He paid, and by the time he was getting into the Impala, he’d forgotten all about the magazine.

All about Castiel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins! I hope you enjoy! Chapter 3 will be up next Friday, the 19th of April. You can subscribe to the fic if you want a notif for when it happens, and I will also light the beacons, so watch for a fire burning in the west. Or the east. Maybe even the north, depending on where you live.

There was a faint mumbling in Dean’s ear.

“What?” Dean squinted into the dark, as though that would help him hear better - but the voice on the other end of the phone remained firmly drowned out by the loud, determined rendition of a Dolly Parton song being given from the stage. Dean pressed a hand flat over his other ear and closed his eyes, and that helped just a little.

“I said,” he heard Sam bellow, “are you still coming over for Christmas?”

“Yeah, man, of course,” Dean said, trying to speak loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to disturb _Jolene._ It was a narrow window and he realised he’d missed it when he got thrown a few irritated glances from the people sitting at the table in front of him.

“Where even are you?” Sam said, as the music from onstage boomed louder.

“Just at the bar,” Dean said. “It’s... game night. But yeah, man, I’m totally there for Christmas.”

“Cool! We'll make sure there's plenty to eat.”

“You gonna get in some -”

“Cherry pie... pecan pie... apple pie,” Sam checked off, as if by rote. “Dean, do you think there's any way I could forget at this point. Seriously. Everyone knows. People on the street hand me pies to give to you. It’s beyond a joke.”

“Just checking,” Dean said, a touch defensively.

“Alright, well, have fun at your…”

“Game night,” Dean said stoutly. “At the bar.”

“Game night,” Sam repeated as, onstage, the Dolly wannabe hit a high note.

“Yeah, man. Go… Bulls.”

“Alright. Go Bulls. Well, see you in a couple weeks.”

“See you then,” Dean said, and ended the call. He slid his phone back into his pocket, and wondered if he should have just risked the cold and taken the call outside.

Ah, it was probably okay. Sam probably just thought that Dean’s local sports bar had a more eclectic music choice than most, or that it had been a commercial, or something.

Or something.

Probably.

“Game night?” said a voice next to him, sounding amused. Dean turned to his right, and there beside him - perched on a stool that was bright pink, and already covered in glitter, and wearing one of the tacky cheap feather boas they sometimes strung round the necks of newbies at The Refuge - was a guy with bright blue eyes and a slight, sardonic smile.

Something about him looked familiar. Had they met before? Surely, Dean would remember. He blinked, staring at the guy for a half-second longer. It was an odd sensation, it was like - he reached for it - like the moment when he was driving a new car and he threw his foot on the accelerator for the first time, and felt that calm thrill. Or - or in a book, when he would read a line and realise that the words in front of him, words that weren't written about him, somehow belonged with him now.

It was a split-second moment of sudden and absurd certainty. Dean blinked, and brushed away the thought.

The guy raised an eyebrow.

Right. _Game night,_ he’d asked.

“Uh…” Dean said, explanations and responses flitting across his mind half-formed - what should he be, funny, honest, denying all knowledge? Dean couldn’t deny that he immediately liked the look of the guy and didn’t really want to lie to him, but he fumbled for a way to be truthful without sounding pathetic.

“The game’s not on,” the guy said, bringing Dean back to the moment and making him keenly aware that he’d been sat with his mouth slightly open for slightly too long, grasping for words that wouldn’t come.

“It’s not,” Dean confirmed, not knowing what else to say, and wishing he could come up with something wittier in the moment. The guy was _fine._ Those blue eyes were striking but it was more about his face in motion, some little quirk of his mouth as he spoke.

“It’s alright,” the man reassured him, “I’m not police.”

 _Shame. You'd look great in the uniform,_ said Dean's brain, suave.

“Shame,” said Dean's mouth, “you look great.”

 _What?_ demanded his brain, catching up with his mouth - but the guy was looking down at the ground with an expression that looked amused, maybe even a little pleased, at the same time as being kind of bashful about it. All in all, the effect was quite something, Dean thought. Particularly with the feather boa.

“I’m, uh… I'm Dean,” Dean said, leaning over and offering a hand. The guy looked at it for a second as though unsure what to do with it, and then slid his own hand into Dean’s and held it tightly, unmoving. Dean shook it, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m - Cas,” the guy said, hesitating for a second over his name.

It felt like Dean was meeting someone who’d definitely _read_ about how handshakes happened and how people introduced themselves, but who had never actually put the theory into practice. Dean pulled his hand away, and the man quickly let go.

Odd.

Up onstage, the song changed. Dolly Parton was switched for some Whitney Houston, and they both paused to clap along and listen for a moment. Dean glanced over and saw that the guy - Cas - looked enraptured by the figure on the stage, who was wearing a clingy red number and a golden sparkling wig, belting _Million Dollar Bill_ into the mic and ignoring the occasional whine of feedback.

“First time here?” Dean said, leaning over to be heard over the music as it amped up, and Cas glanced over at him and nodded; the glance was one that Dean recognised, a mixture of _why, don’t I fit in_ and _I’m so excited to be here that I don’t care whether or not I fit in._

“It’s a special place,” Dean said, and Cas nodded again.

“I’ve never been anywhere quite like it,” he said. Dean glanced around the familiar room - the low ceiling, the heavily decorated bar, the flashing lights, the sumptuously cheap stage with its karaoke setup.

But The Refuge, Dean knew, wasn’t the bar and the lights and the dodgy microphone; The Refuge was the people. Every glitter-covered, feather-wearing one of them, beaming at each other and clapping each other and just enjoying being around each other in a way that Dean knew, for sure, was something he could only find right here.

That, and the particular stain on the carpet where Dean had really overdone it one night on the rainbow shots and made a delightful rainbow mess, were what made the place uniquely Dean’s.

He moved on his stool and his own feather boa shifted on his chest; he was no newbie, but he always had one trailed around his neck at the door by Ash all the same. Dean could never figure out if it was because he was doing a good enough job hiding how much he liked it and Ash thought he was teasing Dean, or if he was doing a crappy job hiding how much he liked it and Ash was just being nice. Either way, Dean got his goddamn pink feather boa and it tickled the back of his neck and he _liked_ it, and at The Refuge you were allowed to like things that the outside world didn’t always get.

Things like Dolly Parton songs, sung by a man in a beautiful dress.

Things like the brush of soft feathers and the twinkle of glitter.

Things like look in this guy's - Cas’ - eyes, when he turned back to Dean.

“Do you sing?” Cas asked, looking at Dean again. Dean shrugged.

“Not often,” he said evasively. “You?”

“Now and then,” Cas said, but he wasn’t looking at Dean, now, his face turned back to the stage. He was moving slightly, his shoulders swaying just a little in time to the beat. Whitney was irresistible, and that was a fact.

“Cool,” Dean said, not pressing further. He watched Cas, trying to understand his vibe; he seemed kind of chilled out, kind of friendly, but you could never tell - and that handshake had been weird. There was a little something to him that made Dean want to know more about him, though, figure him out. And he'd only been nursing a beer solo so far tonight, anyway - his usual gang hadn't been able to make it, but he hadn't felt like staying in his own apartment. “So, what brings you here tonight?”

“Just passing through,” Cas said. The song ended, and he had to shout through the storm of applause as he continued, “I heard about this place from a friend of mine.”

“Oh, yeah? They a regular here?”

“I think so… Charlie Bradbury?”

“No shit!” Dean said, grinning. “You know Charlie?”

“We were at school together,” Cas said. “A long time ago. We recently reconnected...”

“That’s awesome,” Dean said. “Charlie’s good people.”

“She is,” Cas said warmly, and Dean immediately liked him more. Anyone who liked Charlie, and whom Charlie liked enough to recommend The Refuge to, was alright by him. “And I really needed to get out somewhere. I spend way too much time inside.”

 _Inside like inside,_ Dean wondered, _or inside like inside the closet?_

“I know the feeling,” he said, which was a true reply either way. Cas gave him a look.

“Game night,” he said, and Dean raised a shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said. Cas offered him a tentatively supportive smile, and Dean returned it.

“Do you even actually like football?” he asked.

Dean made a face, and Cas smiled again, but more confidently this time.

“So... what do you like?” he asked.

Not the most inspired start to a conversation, and an embarrassed little glance down at the ground from Cas seemed to acknowledge that, but Dean was feeling pretty damn okay about Cas being interested in keeping on talking to him at all. A new song started up - Celine Dion, this time - as Dean answered,

“I like cars. I fix ‘em for a living. I like pie, I like beer. I like to read, I guess.”

“Oh, really?” Cas’ eyes were bright. “What do you like to read?”

Dean only realised how rarely he got a follow-up question to the second half rather than the first when it came out of Cas’ mouth; people round where he lived tended to be more the car type than the bookish type, or at least as far as they let on to Dean, and that was okay by him - but it did make a nice change.

“I’m into some old classics stuff,” Dean said, the words coming out more shyly than he’d intended. “I like reading Homer and Virgil and stuff.”

“You’re into the epics?” Cas said, and Dean saw a little sharp intelligence spark in Cas’ expression. It was small wonder Charlie liked him, Dean thought. She'd always enjoyed clever company.

“Mostly, yeah,” he said, struggling not to feel immediately inadequate. “I tend to reread stuff. I don’t really know anything else… I know there’s shorter stuff but I haven’t read it… yet.”

“Would you like a recommendation?” Cas said.

“Well, sure. Hit me.”

“Catullus.”

“Castullus?”

“Catullus,” Cas repeated. “He wrote some wonderful, deeply romantic poetry.”

“Ah, cool.”

“And,” Cas said, “he also wrote some wonderful poetry about hating his friends because he was annoyed with them.” He smiled, his face lit up blue and green by the sparkling fairy lights overhead. “It was the equivalent of someone making a Facebook post today where they just publicly drag their friends’ names through the mud. It’s... the first century BC version of ‘hey, I heard what you said about me and I’m going to fuck you up’.”

Dean half-smiled, feeling the warmth and attraction in his own gaze. Cas said _fuck_ slightly too self-consciously, as though he didn't do it much but wanted to, and that was weirdly charming.

“I think I heard that Taylor Swift song,” Dean said.

“Catullus would have played that song on repeat for days. I’m convinced of it.”

Dean laughed. “So... that’s your thing, is it? Old poets promising to screw with their friends?”

Cas pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“Well,” he said, “there is a certain enjoyment one can get out of reading someone else’s drama…” Dean tilted his head to one side, pulled down the corners of his mouth, accepting the truth of it. “But mostly I don’t enjoy seeing humans tear into each other, no. I think, um. I just like the fact that you can see so clearly and completely that Catullus was human. He was... a melodramatic, oversensitive, petty, profound human being.” Dean liked the way Cas' face looked as he reached for each new adjective, pulling them out of the air like words in a spell.

“Yeah, I get it,” he said aloud. “Like, there’s something about how these people were alive all that time ago, but they were still _us._ ”

“ _Exactly,_ ” Cas said, gesturing emphatically with one hand, paying no attention to the bar around them now as he leaned into their conversation. “The fact that they were using different words, and doing - navigating different worlds, but they were using those words to say the same things, and they were walking those worlds as _people_ just like us.”

“Like, if we could meet them and talk to them, we could hang, probably. Like if I went up to this guy Catullus and I was like, hey, wanna go get frozen yoghurt and talk about your crappy friends?”

“He’d immediately say yes,” Cas said without hesitation.

“Hell yeah, he would,” Dean said. He grinned at Cas through the half-dark of the bar. This was going well, right? Dean was sure this was going well. The conversation seemed to be flowing.

“We could all talk about how being sensitive and appreciative of beauty doesn’t detract from who we are as people, and how his friends need to learn a thing or two.”

And Dean felt his throat stick at that, just briefly. So, that was why this guy Catullus had been so mad? Dean himself knew more than enough about people finding things out about him and seeing him as less of a man - which, in their mind, seemed to mean less of a person. If Cas had ever experienced any of that stuff too, no wonder he connected with Catullus’ anger - his face, now, was troubled, looking down at the ground. Dean fidgeted with the end of his pink feather boa.

“Well, you and I are pretty well-placed to talk about that shit, probably,” he said. Cas looked up and smiled, the clouds that had settled over him seeming to lift.

“Indeed,” he said. “And where better than over frozen yoghurt.”

Dean felt a sudden clap on his back, and turned on his stool to see Ash standing behind him, half-dancing to the latest song that Dean hadn’t heard starting up - _Two Doors Down,_ more Dolly.

“Hey, Ash,” Dean said, making himself grin; he’d been absorbed in the little world that he and Cas had made, forgotten that they could be seen and touched by other people for a minute.

“Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout?” Ash said, smiling past Dean, towards Cas.

“Getting frozen yoghurt with Roman poets,” Cas said back, and Dean felt a little spike of pleasure at how neutrally he said it, as though he too wasn’t overjoyed that they’d been interrupted - and how his eyes cut to Dean’s for half a second afterwards, as though wanting to share the joke again.

“Y’all are weird,” Ash said. “You gonna get in a round, Winchester?”

“Empty pockets,” Dean said, faking ruefulness. Ash grabbed his shoulder playfully and shook it.

“You pay for my drink or you sing for your dinner,” he said.

“That doesn’t make sense, Ash,” Dean said, and raised a pointed eyebrow at him, and then turned back to Cas. “So… Catullus. I’ll check out his stuff.”

“Good,” Cas said, smiling. “So... do you have a recommendation for me in return?”

“A book?”

“Well,” Cas said, and as he thought about it, Dean threw a quick look over his shoulder and was relieved to see that Ash had taken the hint and made himself scarce. Dean had no idea if anything was actually happening between him and this guy, Cas - or what sort of thing it might be - but he wanted the space to find out. “Well, no, not necessarily. Anything you want to recommend.”

“Hmm,” Dean said. Cas put his arm so that it was resting on the bar, chin leaning on his hand, so that he was just slightly nearer to Dean. And he was looking at Dean, his expression warm and clever and expectant.

 _Shit,_ Dean thought to himself. _Shit. Shit. Get this one right._

“I recommend coming to bars and talking to guys with pink feather boas on more often. Always a good time,” he said. He was pretty sure all the words came out, and even that they might have come out in the right order.

There was that little smile again, and Dean’s heart thudded in his chest.

“Will any bar do?” Cas said, with an edge of teasing in his voice. Dean pretended to think about it.

“Actually, now you mention it… no. There’s one specific bar I had in mind.”

“So, any guy in the room wearing a pink feather boa, then,” Cas said, not looking at anyone but Dean.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, just as the music changed again - the Scissor Sisters - and Dean grinned as Cas' head flicked round to the stage.

“You like this one?” he said, and when Cas nodded, he bit his lip and risked, “Wanna dance?”

“I'm not any good…”

“That,” Dean said, “is fine by me and everyone here.” He held out his hand, and after just a moment, Cas looked up into his eyes and took it.

He _did_ dance terribly, all hands in the wrong places, dorky and awkward - and Dean should have been put off by it, he knew, but there was something about the way Cas moved, the odd self-consciousness of it that gently transformed into odd unselfconsciousness as the song went on, that he _liked._ Cas made eye contact with him and smiled, and Dean felt his heart flip. He could have sworn he actually felt it drop and rise in his chest, physical and real.

_Well, shit._

“Let me buy you a drink,” Dean said, when the song ended and they hopped back into their bar stools. Cas, breathless, his forehead shining, nodded and asked the bartender for a mojito.

“Took you for more of the intellectual whiskey type,” Dean said, and Cas smiled.

“I'm full of surprises,” he said.

They sat and talked as their drinks were made; Cas listened to Dean talk about cars, and they ordered more drinks, and Dean listened to Cas talk about cocktail-making and book-binding and bee-keeping - what a guy, he thought, as they ordered their third round. What a guy. Bee-keeping. What the fuck. And then they both sat and listened to each other talk about their favourite places to visit, and then Dean asked another question about the bee-keeping ( _bee-keeping_ ), and Cas was off again.

“And that's why you shouldn't give honey to babies,” Cas finished, when their fourth mojitos showed up.

Dean sipped his drink thoughtfully. He was getting to like the minty sweetness.

“You learn something new every day,” he said.

“Sorry, I've been talking so much…”

“Don't apologise, dude. There is literally no need.” Dean smiled at him, hoping his warmth and sincerity was coming across. “I am now equipped to go out there and not kill babies.”

“What more could you ask -”

Over the top of their conversation, then, came the first strains of a newer song, something rich with a deep, fast bass and kind of floaty in the high notes. Dean closed his mouth when he saw Cas’ expression shift, his face stiffening.

“What?” Dean said, as the vocals kicked in. Dean couldn’t remember who sang this one - he was stupidly popular and the name was on the tip of his tongue, some funky new-age word.

Cas seemed to visibly collect himself, or make an attempt, and only shook his head in response.

“Don’t like the song?” Dean said, and Cas lifted a shoulder. “Oh, what’s his name. The name of the guy who sings it…”

“Castiel,” Cas said flatly.

“ _Right_ \- Castiel. God, I can’t stand most of his stuff.”

For a second, Cas’ mouth dropped open and he was gawping at Dean in undisguised shock - and then the weird stiffness all seemed to melt, and he was smiling and looking relaxed again.

“ _Really_ ?” he said. Dean shifted on his stool, wondering if the guy was some kind of mega-fan. God, wait - even the first three letters of his name were the same, what if he was _such_ a mega-fan that he’d literally changed his name to be the same as Castiel the singer’s?

 _Too late to be anything but honest now,_ Dean thought, with a mental shrug of his shoulders.

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t know - it’s just all so commercial.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, warming to his theme a little since the first statement didn’t seem to have caused offence. If anything, Cas looked eager for him to continue. “That thing he does where he always wears the mask onstage and in public, it’s so gimmicky. And like, it’s like every other cheesy pop singer ever has a hand up his butt, and he’s just their little song-puppet. People going wild for the same chords over and over. And the worst?” Dean was in full flow, now. “The worst is that he’s singing about falling in love like it’s all cute and nice and happy, blah blah blah, _ugh_.”

“It’s... not all cute and nice and happy?” Cas ventured.

“Nah, man. Nah.”

“No, of course not.”

“Like, when it’s real, there’s, like… a beating heart to it.” Dean clenched his fist.

“I see.”

“It’s like,” Dean said, feeling the need to explain himself better, “I’ve read interviews with him because they’re _everywhere,_ God…”

“Tell me about it,” Cas said.

“... And I know that he’s into guys romantically. But, like... he sings about it like he doesn’t know what the hell it actually is to fall in love with someone, and not be able to help it in the slightest and be pissed off about it and scared about it and do everything you can not to, while also totally never wanting it to stop, it’s like… it’s so much more alive than he makes it sound. Every time I hear one of his songs I think, does this guy really know what it’s like?”

“To fall in love?” Cas said.

“To fall in _love._ Against, like, your own rules and your own better judgement and everything. The timing’s wrong, the place is wrong, the person’s wrong, and still something in you is like, _yeah. That one. That’s the one._ Like…” Dean sought for words, swept up in his own point. “When you want to kiss someone _so bad,_ like _so bad_ you can feel it burning all the way through you, and you think about it for _days,_ and you know that you shouldn’t and you know that it’ll have consequences and shit, but literally you can feel that kiss burning inside you, it’s like… that’s the good shit for me, you know. If it doesn’t spill out of you because you can’t keep it in, if you don’t feel the same thing coming right back from the other person... man, love like that is so goddamn raw. It’s so raw.” Dean blinked, and then cleared his throat, and awkwardly looked down at the floor. “Anyway, I’m… uh. Yeah… sorry if you like his stuff… there are ones of his that I don’t mind. Just…”

“Don’t worry,” Cas said, coming to his rescue, “I actually... completely agree with you. I don’t think he understands all that, either.” He swallowed visibly, Dean’s eyes dipping to watch his throat move. “Probably he just thinks that love only gets real and deep when it ends. And he’s mixing up the feeling of having someone walk away with the feeling of experiencing meaningful love. And he doesn’t have a clue how real it could get in the beginning, if he really felt what he thought he was feeling.”

Were they still talking about Castiel, or was this about Cas, Dean couldn’t help wondering - not even wondering, because there was no way all that had been about some random singer. Cas looked over at him, something vulnerable in his expression, and Dean smiled at him. “Maybe one day he’ll get it,” he said lightly.

“Maybe so.”

“Must drive you crazy, having a similar name to the guy. People ask you to do impressions a lot?”

“You would not believe how often.”

“Ah, man. Sucks.”

The song played out overhead, the voice just as unique as Dean remembered, the lyrics all saccharine and wrong. Dean coughed.

“So… doing anything nice for Christmas?” he said, now wanting to steer the conversation away from his rant. Cas didn’t look put off - if anything, he seemed to have quite enjoyed it - but Dean was fairly sure he was going to remember _that time I went on a giant rant about the power of love to a guy I’d just met and was hoping to maybe get a date with_ with a cringe of shame tomorrow.

“No, no,” Cas said. “Nothing.”

“What, nothing?” Dean frowned.

“No. My family are all in Alaska and I don’t enjoy visiting them, anyway. I’ll just… you know, read.”

“Read,” Dean repeated.

“Yes.”

“On Christmas. Alone?”

“It could be worse,” Cas said.

“Could it?”

“I could be reading at Christmas with my _mother_ there.”

“She’s really that bad?”

“She… has a special way of showing she cares.” He gave a twisty kind of smile at Dean, and Dean was seized by a sudden and powerful urge to invite him to the Christmas party at Sam’s house.

No. He couldn’t. That would be incredibly weird. They’d only just met each other. But no one should be alone at Christmas, should they?

“I mean,” Dean said, and then stopped, and then said, “I mean -”

“Dean!” said a loud voice, and a hand slapped him on the back, and then Ash was leaning in and beaming at him. “There he is, the man of the moment, here to close us out for our last song!”

The bar all around them exploded into cheers and claps, and Dean - caught unawares - blinked around at them and smiled nervously, suddenly in the spotlight - literally, a bright light had swung around to point its unforgiving stare at him.

“What?” he said, with a little half-laugh and a shake of the head.

“You’re up, Dean,” Ash said, and put something in Dean’s hand. He glanced down, and saw a microphone.

_Shit._

“No, no, not tonight,” he said, trying to be graceful. His heart was pounding just at the idea of having to get up and sing in front of Cas. When it was just the normal crowd was one thing, but in front of someone new - someone who he kind of -

“Aw, our boy’s shy… let’s give him a hand up there!” Ash said, and his hand dug Dean in the ribs, shifting him off his stool. Dean stumbled to his feet, gripping the microphone in a fist made tight with sudden horror as he realised dignified escape was impossible; this was really going to happen. Ash leaned in closer. “See, next time, just buy me a drink, you cheap asshole.”

“You - no -” Dean said, but Ash was clapping him on the shoulder again and then he was gone, and the bar was cheering for him, and the regulars who knew his name were calling it out…

“Dean,” said a voice behind him - soft, safe, and the touch on Dean’s arm was more welcome than Dean could have expected. He looked down at Cas. “If you want to drop that thing and run,” Cas said seriously, “I will distract them.”

Dean took a deep breath, and considered it. Genuinely considered it. He could head out the back door, and meet Cas outside, maybe. They could go for a late-night pizza down at Due Fiori, walk down by the river, and then...

But if he was gonna ever come back to The Refuge with his head held high, Dean couldn’t back out now. The place never let him be anything less than himself and he _needed_ that - both for the future and, shit, if he thought about it, right now too. Look at him, already sinking into old mistakes.

_Sure, Dean, close yourself off to the guy because you care about his opinion. Pretend you can’t do things you can, and lie and hide yourself away. It’s game night, right? It’s fucking game night._

He wasn’t doing this again. He wasn’t going to be hiding again. Not for Cas and for anyone who came after. He wasn’t going to start this with another goddamn human being.

“No, it’s… it’s okay. I think I got this.”

Cas looked surprised, but nodded, and dropped his hand from Dean’s arm. On legs that were numb, Dean walked up towards the gaudy glitter-covered stage, the microphone already hissing and whining in his hand as he passed the speakers. People were clapping and cheering for him as he went, but he couldn’t hear them properly. He couldn’t feel his fingers. He couldn’t feel his hair. Could he normally feel his hair?

“Whatcha want,” muttered Ash as he passed the booth where he was working, controlling the music.

Dean muttered a name to him, the first one that came into his head; Ash grunted, and nodded him up.

He’d done this before, Dean told himself. Enough times that normally, he didn’t even feel nervous when he got up here anymore, and cast his eyes around the sea of faces. Admittedly, he’d usually had a bit more to drink, by this point, if he was going to sing - but the night had slipped away so quickly. And usually, there wasn’t a guy at the back of the room Dean didn’t want to take his eyes off. He thought he saw Cas smile at him in the darkness, and his heart flipped again. So undeniable, so tangible, so inadvertent and uncontrollable.

He waited for the backing track to kick in, wondering why he’d even chosen this song. He’d sung it in the shower this morning, and the morning before, maybe that was it.

 _Cas,_ said his heart, as he waited.

 _Shut up_ , he said back. _Don’t even._

 _Cas, Cas, Cas_.

_I know, but shut up, seriously._

Cas was definitely watching him from the back of the room.

An image: Dean, his hand pressed to Cas’ cheek, leaning in to kiss him. The picture caught in his mind like a fire, and burned.

_Calm down… come on, man, shit._

_Deny it feels real_ , his heart said, and it crushed in his chest, so wonderfully painful and embarrassing and stupid and exciting. The first notes kicked in, and Dean took a breath.

He brought up the mic, and he sang.

“ _When the rain is blowing in your face,_ _  
_ _And the whole world is on your case…”_

He let his voice be shy and rich and sweet and smoky and in tune - the way he never let it be around Sam or in the outside world - and he felt the audience stop and breathe in, just like they always did.

“ _I could offer you a warm embrace,_ _  
_ _To make you feel my love.”_

The room was still, attentive. Dean’s fingers were slippery on the microphone and he prayed he wouldn’t drop it. He prayed he wasn’t sweating through his shirt. He prayed that, even though he couldn’t feel it, he still had hair.

“ _When the evening shadows and the stars appear,_ _  
_ _And there’s no one there to dry your tears…”_

Cas should have someone there at Christmas, Dean thought. Someone should _be_ there. What if he was lonely, and no one was there?

“ _I could hold you for a million years,_ _  
_ _To make you feel my love.”_

And now into the chorus, which was always hard on his throat in the shower, and he’d never sung this song outside of the shower, so he had no idea if it was going to break -

“ _I know you haven’t made your mind up yet…”_

No, he was safe, it was good -

_“But I would never do you wrong.”_

Dean found his eyes searching in the dark, and couldn’t fight them, couldn’t tell what they were doing soon enough to be able to stop them looking right into Cas’ eyes as he sang,

 _“I’ve known it from the moment that we met,_ _  
_ _No doubt in my mind where you belong.”_

His next indrawn breath came shaky. He shouldn’t have done that. Why had he done that?

The rest of the song was a blur of singing without paying attention, singing while thinking about what he’d done.

What if it was too much, and Cas was gone by the time Dean finished the song? Or what if, when he got back to his seat, Cas didn’t address it at all because he hadn’t even noticed? Which would be worse - for Cas to have understood and been frightened off, or for Cas to be clueless because it didn’t mean anything to him? Both were so embarrassing, so stupid -

The song ended, and Dean’s thought spiral was interrupted by a silence that burst into whoops and yells, which built to a crescendo. Dean stumbled down off the stage, shoving the microphone back to Ash without a word, and heading towards the back of the bar. Cas, at least, was still there.

He looked at Dean, and it was alright. It was alright. Dean could breathe.

It was all there in his eyes.

Dean sat down, and didn’t know whether to look at him or not look at him, and tried to do both at once.

“You… you sing well,” Cas said, and looked down at his shoes as though knowing it was inadequate. Dean swallowed.

“Thanks,” he managed. Maybe he had killed it, after all. Maybe they’d just be awkward around each other for the next five minutes and then Cas would get up and leave, and that would be that.

“Listen,” Cas said, “there’s an audition tomorrow. Singing. I have to be there… maybe you can go too? You have an amazing voice.”

“Uh…” Dean blinked at the change of subject; whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t this. “Well - uh, you know, I don’t really sing… for anything like that…” Cas was pulling out his phone and scrolling on it, and Dean’s hopes that he might be about to get Cas’ number were somewhat confused by whatever else seemed to be happening. He was so sure they’d been having a moment of some kind, and now… an audition?

“It’s very small-scale,” Cas said. “Here, look… here’s the thing…”

Dean took Cas’ proffered phone, bemused.

“Auditions,” he read on it, “are open by invitation only for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Come along to the Ground Floor Theatre for the chance to get up on stage and sing a duet at the Austin, Texas show of the one, the only… Castiel?” Dean said the last name in disbelief. “Dude… I literally told you…”

“I know,” Cas said, “but Dean, your voice - it deserves to be heard. I really hope you’ll go… just think about it, OK?”

Dean stared at him. What was he - why was he sending Dean off to do an audition for some random guy whose music Dean didn’t even like? And - Dean’s stomach dropped - why was he reaching for his coat, and standing up?

“I have to go,” Cas said.

“Right,” Dean said, trying to nod casually.

“You do too,” Cas said.

Dean looked up at him, hardly daring to hope -

“The bar is closing,” Cas said.

And Dean was back at wanting the floor to swallow him. Shamefacedly, he reached for his own coat on the free bar stool beside his own, and stood up. All around them, people were heading out into the cold, laughing and talking. Dean could only stare at Cas, not knowing whether to ask, how to ask, what to ask.

Burning in his mind, the image of him leaning in to kiss Cas -

“Come to the audition,” Cas said. “I’ll be there.”

And then he turned, and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have the time and the will, comments and kudos make my day! See you for chapter 3 in a week <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beacons are lit! The fic update calls for aid!! Hope you enjoy Dean struggling his way through both an audition and his own feelings. The next update is in a week, on Friday 26th April. Remember to subscribe if you want a notif for when it goes up, and upon request I will also send a raven.

In the cold light of day, Dean Winchester stood outside the Ground Floor Theatre with his hands shoved into his coat pockets, a scarf twisted around his neck and an expression of deep scepticism on his face. The place looked nondescript, no banner or sign announcing that Castiel’s auditions were happening; for a singer that famous, they were obviously trying to keep things on the down-low.

Dean wondered how Cas had got to hear about it, when last night he hadn’t seemed to be much of a Castiel fan. He’d enjoyed Dean’s detailed deconstruction of Castiel’s musical flaws, or it had seemed that way at the time. So how had he managed to get himself on the invite list to auditions that seemed to be pretty exclusive?

Dean shoved his hands further into his pockets, and considered the front door. If he walked through it, he would be actually going into an actual audition, where he would have to actually sing in front of actual people who would actually judge him. He couldn’t do the usual off-key croon that he summoned up whenever he sang outside The Refuge or his own room. He’d have to really, actually, properly sing.

He wanted to walk away. He wanted _so much_ to walk away.

But through those doors was also Cas, who had asked him to come, and left Dean no other way to contact him. If Dean walked away from this dumb audition for a dumb singer with dumb songs, he’d also be walking away from any chance at seeing Cas again. He wanted to be OK with that; he really, _really_ wanted that not to matter. And yet here he was, outside the theatre, and his feet weren’t walking him away. They were, now, marching him up to the door.

“Shit,” he murmured to himself as he pushed through them. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck -”

“Good morning,” said a bright, friendly, professional voice, and Dean stopped swearing under his breath to smile down at a beaming woman with brown hair and blue eyes.

“Morning,” Dean managed, with around a quarter of her level of smooth professionalism. Her light grey jacket and dark pants looked expensive, and the lobby where they were standing was chic and modern and had a bonsai tree sitting on the front desk that was probably worth more than Dean’s rent for a month; all in all he felt just ever so slightly out of place. He was wearing the only coat he had that didn’t have oil stains on it from the garage.

“Are you here for the auditions today?” the woman asked.

Dean swallowed. _No,_ said his brain, _say no. Say you came in because you had to pee. Say you need to leave immediately because you have a cat at home in distress. Say you lost your voice -_ mime _that you lost your voice in the last two seconds, and run._

“Yeah,” said Dean’s traitor voice, urged on by his traitor freaking heart, which still had itself wrapped around the idea of seeing Cas again. “Yeah, I am.”

“Awesome. Can I get your name?” The woman lifted up a clipboard expectantly.

“Uh, Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“Amazing. And -”

Dean briefly zoned out. For the woman to accept him so quickly, had his name been on some kind of list on her clipboard? But how would Cas have managed to get him on a list at such short notice, with no one else in the process having any idea who he was? Maybe they were just accepting walk-ins from anyone who knew the location of the audition?

“Huh?” Dean realised that he’d missed something when he snapped back to reality to find the woman raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Your pronouns,” the woman said, with a little smile. “Like he and him, or she and her, or they and them, or…?”

“Oh! Right,” Dean said, the penny dropping. “He and him, please.” Why was he saying please? It had just come out. He wasn’t used to being asked his pronouns, even though he knew enough people through The Refuge who didn’t go by the ones they’d been assigned at birth. People tended to just assume they knew with Dean, and it was oddly nice for it to be open like that, even though he was giving the obvious anwer.

“Castiel insists we ask,” the woman said, catching Dean’s expression. “Which suits me great.” She bent her head down to her clipboard, scribbling something down. Dean nodded, and then wondered - had he read her right as a woman? Could he ask that now, or was it too late? He didn’t think he’d ever actually asked anyone their pronouns before; he’d either been told by the person themselves or the friend introducing him to the person, and he’d always nodded and followed along. The idea of asking felt awkward. But if he was misreading this woman - this person - he should probably ask, shouldn’t he? Though he was also unlikely to ever see her again after today…

_Bite the bullet, Winchester._

“So… what are your pronouns, then?” he said, in a voice that was way too casual and totally wrong, but the woman’s - person’s - expression brightened into genuine happiness when he asked.

“I go by they and them,” they said. There was a tiny pause, and then they added, “Thank you for asking.”

They smiled at him, and Dean smiled back.

“No problem,” he said. Was that the right response? Did it sound like he thought he’d done them a favour? He probably sounded like a total asshole.

“I’m Hannah, by the way,” they said, as they finished writing on their clipboard, tucked the pen behind their ear, and peeled a sticky label off a sheet. When they pressed it to Dean’s lapel, Dean twitched it upwards to read it.

_Dean Winchester. He/him._

“Thanks,” Dean said, and smiled at them again. “Good to meet you, Hannah.” Had that been a little creepy, using their name? They didn’t seem to have noticed, only smiling back in a light, professional way.

“Head right on in,” they said. “You want to go through the doors there, and you’ll find Jody, who’ll be taking your music. Then you can go through to makeup…”

“Makeup?” Dean said nervously.

“Just some quick touch-ups, everyone gets them,” Hannah said reassuringly. “We’re filming this so that we can show some clips on the day of the concert, just so everyone has some context about who this person is that’s up onstage with Castiel.”

Somehow, in the mess of his feelings about the audition and having to sing in front of people and seeing Cas again, Dean had forgotten that someone was going to actually win this thing. Someone was going to get up onstage with Castiel at his sell-out concert and perform a duet with him. Dean felt his stomach drop. Even though he stood no chance whatsoever of winning, the fact that it was even _possible -_ God, and he didn’t even like Castiel’s music. If he won, could he reasonably say no? If they were filming it, and he said no… what would they do? Would they have to reshoot the moment with someone else being told they’d won?

He wouldn’t win. There was no goddamn way he would win. He sang in the shower and at a gay bar’s cheap karaoke night and that was it. The person who won was going to be semi-pro already, Dean was sure of it.

“How many people are turning up today?” Dean asked.

“Oh, only about twelve to fifteen of you, we think,” Hannah said brightly. “It’s by invitation only, of course, so it’s a relatively small circle.”

Twelve to fifteen? Just _twelve to fifteen_ people showing up for a gig like this? How had they managed to limit it to so few, keep so few people in the know? How was Dean being allowed in the building when he was just an invitee of another invitee - it wasn’t as though Castiel himself had deigned to bestow a personal invitation? Dean swallowed hard.

“Don’t be nervous,” Hannah said, misreading his expression of consternation. “It means you’re in with a really good chance! How about you head on through to Jody now?”

“Right - right, yeah,” Dean said, following their gentle guiding hand towards a door at the far end of the lobby. He pushed open the heavy door and stumbled through it, his mind reeling. What had he managed to get himself into? Was there a convenient fire exit that he could make a break for? He couldn’t, shouldn’t, _mustn’t_ be here. He didn’t even slightly belong. He was just a freaking mechanic. He was a total nobody. Everyone was going to laugh the second he opened his mouth up on the stage - or, God forbid, they _wouldn’t_ laugh and he’d actually _win_ and have to go through with singing in front of thousands of people at a concert with Castiel, of all people, and there was no way Dean could pass _that_ off to Sam as just another game night… no, he’d turn it down, he’d have to, but could he even do that? Was he going to have to sign something to say he’d do the concert if he won?

And still, _still,_ Dean’s feet wouldn’t walk him away. Still, he kept thinking he might see Cas again, and that was worth sticking around just another few minutes. He gritted his teeth. Why in the _hell_ did he have to be so stuck on this guy? The first moment Dean saw him, he was going to march up to him, ask for his number, and then - whatever the answer - he was going to get the fuck out of Dodge.

Until then, he was apparently going to stay in this poky little theatre with its tiered dark seats and its intimate little stage, and he was going to have to deal with that.

“Hey,” said a dark-haired person, who walked up to Dean from the aisle that ran down the centre of the tiered seating with a confident smile, hand outstretched, eyes flicking down to Dean’s label. “Dean, nice to meet you. I’m Jody, she and her. Do you have your music?”

“Uh…” Dean swallowed. He hadn’t brought a tape, hadn’t brought anything. God, what was he doing here. “I actually… no, I don’t.”

Jody barely blinked, all professionalism - though her voice softened slightly, seeming to read a little of what he was feeling.

“OK. Maybe I have what you need. What song were you going to sing?” she asked.

“I guess… Adele’s version of _Make You Feel My Love,_ ” Dean said. Jody’s brow creased.

“Ah,” she said. “Okay. Does it have to be that? We’re old-school today and we only have a tape player rigged up to the speakers, and I’ve brought mostly Castiel songs, if you wanted to go for one of those instead…”

“Ahh… uh, well, I think, uh -” Dean considered. Cas had specifically told him to sing the Adele song - and anyway, was he even planning on sticking around long enough to get on the stage? With luck, he’d have Cas’ number and have long since cut and run before backing music became a problem. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll sing it without the track.”

“You’re sure?” Jody said, with a definite note of doubt behind her professional tone. “There are lots of great Castiel songs that I can recommend. What about _New Me New You,_ that’s kind of similar to _Make You Feel My Love_?”

Like a sack of cheap fruit candy is close to a perfectly-baked cherry pie, Dean thought, but did not say.

“Seriously, it’s cool,” he said.

“You’re going to make the execs unhappy if you win,” Jody warned. “They won’t like playing clips of you singing without a soundtrack, they’ll say it makes the audition look amateur. Believe me, I’ve been around long enough to know.” She rolled her eyes.

“Ah… it’s really got to be this song,” Dean said, trying to sound as though he really cared what the execs might think. There was no way he was agreeing to sing a Castiel song, on principle. Jody shrugged.

“Well, if you’re sure,” she said. She was looking at him askance, as though she knew something was up with him, and Dean swallowed nervously. _Relax. Act like you belong here. Don’t get kicked out before you find Cas._ “If you head on down the aisle there, turn left, go through the door that you see - not the fire escape, the one to your right - and head down the corridor, you’ll find an open door. My wife Donna will be doing your makeup.” She gave Dean a smile. “Make you all pretty.”

“I don’t get much prettier,” Dean warned her with a grin, starting to head off down the aisle.

“Maybe you don’t need to, young man,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and watching him go. Dean kept up his smile until he was facing away from her, and then let his face relax. His heart was pounding. He felt like a spy, an imposter, a fraud; at any moment, someone was going to realise he should not be here and ask him to leave before he even got the chance to see Cas again. At the front of the seating, Dean saw a couple of people sitting and talking amicably; the other auditionees, he could only assume, as they stopped talking when he passed in front of them and gave him a quick once-over. No Cas - just some slightly unfriendly stares.

_Fraud. Fraud. They know you’re a fraud._

He offered them a half-hearted wave and kept walking. He could feel himself starting to panic. Why had he thought coming here was a good idea? He could see the glowing green light of the fire exit right in front of him, and hated himself for turning right and walking away from it and heading into the corridor that led backstage. He hated the way he hoped Cas might also be in makeup, since he hadn’t been sitting at the front with the others. He hated the whole stupid mess that he was in, right now.

“Well, hiya!” said an exceptionally cheerful voice, as Dean poked his head through the first open door he found leading off the corridor. The owner of the voice looked down to his label. “Nice to meet you… oh, so you’re Dean!”

_Fraud. She’s been told to watch out for me because they know I’m a fraud._

“Yeah, that’s me,” Dean said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Donna, she and her,” Donna said, beaming at him and beckoning him in. “Come on, don’t stand on ceremony. If you’re a vampire, I’m officially inviting you. Get in the chair.”

The makeup room was small, with cream walls and a big black chair sitting in front of a wide mirror. Dean took a seat, feeling big and clumsy. Donna, though, didn’t seem to be suspicious of him; on the contrary, her smile was huge and genuine, and being on the receiving end of it somehow made Dean feel just a little bit better.

“You look more nervous than my dog before a bath,” she said, reaching for a box and a makeup brush. “His name’s Caligula, he was adopted, won’t answer to anything else. Now, don’t worry, hon. I’m just gonna give you a little dusting of powder to make sure you don’t shine on camera. No glitter, I swear.”

“Glitter’s okay,” Dean said, “I’ve done glitter.” He sought for some humour. “Just don’t tweeze my brows, I’ve heard that hurts.”

“Do you see mine?” Donna said, loading her brush up with matte powder. Dean looked up at her eyebrows, which were unplucked, hairs growing underneath and above and in the middle, though they were light blonde and hard to see. “I’m not using those torture instruments on me or anybody else. Jodes gets hers waxed and it’s funny because people always think I’d be the one for that, but I did thirty years of plucking and waxing and threading before I met her and now that I’ve got someone who doesn’t give two hoots about my brows, I’m not gonna put myself through that.” Dean nodded along, finding her chatter oddly calming. “Jodes only does it because it accentuates the intimidating effect when she raises her eyebrows at people, she’s literally told me that, and I’m just not a heavyweight eyebrow lifter like her. I mean, look at this. Up, down. Up, down. Nothing, right? You’re not feeling fear. I’m featherweight at best.”

“You gotta know your limitations,” Dean said.

“You sure do,” Donna said, beginning to brush at his face with quick, practised movements. “Ah, look at your freckles, it’s a shame to cover them up. But it’s not worth the risk of you looking like a little shiny meatball in the clips. The camera can do some cruel things.”

“Whatever you need to do,” Dean said. “Hey, have you… has anyone called Cas come through here, by any chance? A guy?”

Donna pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You know, I think he did,” she said.

Dean could feel his face light up. All this crap, the whole sham, might actually prove to be worth it.

“Is he backstage?”

“I think so.” Donna’s eyes were twinkling, almost as if she knew what was going on - but she couldn’t, Dean thought. She couldn’t know about him and Cas. Even if they all thought he, Dean, was a total fraud, there was no way that anyone could know he was a fraud who’d come to try to ask another person at the auditions for his number. They’d only be able to guess at him being a regular, generic, non-number-seeking kind of fraud.

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool.” He cleared his throat as Donna dusted his nose. “So… have you worked for Castiel for long? Or do you just work at the theatre?”

“Oh, no, I’m Castiel’s personal makeup artist and stylist,” Donna said.

“No way?” Dean said, impressed. “And he’s got you here putting makeup on the randoms who’ve come for the audition, while he’s out living it up somewhere?”

“He likes keeping things small and in the family,” Donna said. “We really are like a family, his backstage crew. He’s a great guy, honestly. We love him to pieces. He gets absolutely hounded by the press and the fans half the time, but he’s got us.”

“Hounded?” Dean said. “Even with the whole mask… thing? No one knows what he looks like, do they?”

“Doesn’t stop them trying to catch him through the windows of his home, or a restaurant, or anywhere else he goes after a concert,” Donna said seriously. “Nowadays, he’s got some doubles that he sends off in different directions at the same time he leaves a venue, so that those clowns will follow them instead. You can’t fathom people, can you? He’s just trying to get on with his life.”

“Comes with some perks, I bet,” Dean said. “Nice house, big cars.”

“Not really,” Donna said, tilting his chin up to check she’d given him an even coverage. “He gives most of it away, and by most of it, I really mean most of it. He pays us and he has a nice little place to live with good security, and the rest goes to his charities.”

“Huh.” Dean had known about Castiel’s charitable causes, of course he had - was it possible to avoid knowing about them, when they were so frequently reported on - but he hadn’t realised that Castiel gave so much that he wasn’t living the typical celebrity lifestyle.

“So, uh… do you just put makeup on Castiel’s chin, or something?” Dean said. “What with the… mask covering everything else?”

“Chin and mouth,” Donna said breezily. Dean snorted, and Donna leaned back, raising one eyebrow. “It’s gotta be a beautiful mouth, you know. It’s all people can see of him. They take haitch-dee pictures and zoom in on ‘em. Imagine if he had some mustard stuck there.”

“Hi... is this makeup?” said a nervous voice, and in the mirror Dean could see someone else leaning through the doorway tentatively. Donna beamed at them.

“Hi! Yep, yep, yep, absolutely. I’m Donna, she and her. Come on in.” She put down her powder box and gave Dean an approving nod. “Okay, you’re all done. If you wanna go sit out with the others, I think they’re gonna start in around fifteen. Or if you need to freshen up, there are bathrooms at the end of the corridor. Just remember not to wash your face or anything like that, or it’ll be shiny meatball syndrome for you.”

Dean saluted.

“Thanks,” he said, as he stood up and headed for the door. The next person in gave him a wobbly kind of smile, and Dean smiled back. He checked their label: _Kevin Tran, he/his._ At least someone else looked as nervous as he did, though Kevin did also look about a century younger than Dean. He couldn’t be out of high school.

Dean headed down towards the bathrooms, not quite ready to make conversation with the rest of the auditionees - the real ones, like Kevin, who were actually here to try to get to sing with Castiel rather than just find a guy they’d met the night before at a bar. They’d all surely expect him to be excited over Castiel’s music and the possibility of actually getting to maybe meet him one day, maybe sing with him onstage, and Dean wasn’t sure he was that good at acting. The only person that he was excited to see was Cas - maybe if Cas won the opportunity to sing with Castiel, then Dean would go along to the concert to watch. There was no other way they were getting him into the building to that show.

He used the bathroom, even though he’d gone just before he left home; the last thing he wanted to be worrying about was needing to pee at an inopportune moment, as well as everything else. Washing his hands, he looked at himself in the mirror, eyeing how the matte powder subtly changed the angles of his cheeks and nose. Was that the face of a man who was going to sing in front of other people who were _actually_ singers, people who were professionals in the business and judges, just to get another man’s number? Was this what he’d become? Was this the guy he wanted to be?

 _I want to be the guy with Cas’ number in my phone,_ said Dean’s heart stubbornly, and Dean gritted his teeth and shook his head and left the bathroom.

He almost collided with someone as he pushed his way out of the door. A quick muttered apology was halfway out of his mouth when he saw who it was that he’d almost run into, and was struck dumb; after a whole night of stressing about whether or not to come, and a whole morning of agonising over whether this was all worth it to see one man, here he was. Here was the man. Barely a foot away from him in the doorway, looking shocked and pleased to see him.

“Cas,” Dean said, because his brain hadn’t caught up enough to say anything else.

“Dean,” Cas said, his eyes warm and bright. “You came! I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, man,” Dean said.

“Auditioning,” Cas suggested.

He was very near, still, both of them half in the doorway to the bathroom, and Dean was having to fight not to let his eyes glance down at Cas’ lips. That image seared quickly through his mind - himself, leaning in for a kiss, and Cas’ eyes closing as he pulled Dean in close -

“I assume,” Cas added, a little dryly.

“Right,” Dean said. “Right, yeah. Definitely. Yeah. I mean - wait, I mean - no, no, I’m not.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Dean said. _I mean, I came here to ask for your number and then get the crap out of here. Now I’ve found you, I don’t have to sing._ Cas’ expression had already fallen.

“If you’re nervous,” Cas said, “don’t be. You’re going to be wonderful. Just wait until they hear you.”

“Cas, I don’t - I don’t even have music. I don’t have experience. I’m a shower-singer. I’m - Christ, can you imagine if I actually win this thing and I have to sing a damn song with Castiel? He’d laugh at me.”

“He wouldn’t,” said Cas.

“You can’t be sure. And I told you, I don’t even like his music.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have to sing one of his songs,” Cas said. “Maybe you could choose the music.”

“What, the Adele again? Dude, that song… it’s not…” _It’s not for him,_ Dean wanted to say. _That was for you._ Now, standing here in front of Cas and feeling all the same things he’d felt last night, Dean felt a little less ridiculous for thinking it, even if he didn’t have the courage to say it. He wasn’t making up the way he felt in his head, at least, that was for sure; his heart was pounding and his stomach was fluttering with butterflies and he felt giddy with happiness, even through his nerves, just because Cas was there in front of him.

Cas was there in front of him, and suddenly the whole thing felt almost funny, the good kind of ridiculous. Cas was there, and Dean found himself smiling for no reason.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be the Adele one if you don’t… what?” Cas asked, breaking off, a matching smile growing on his face.

“Nothing,” Dean said. “Just glad you’re here.”

Cas’ smile softened, turning shy.

“Me too,” he said. “I really didn’t know if you’d come.”

“Yeah. Well. You know, this really isn’t my scene, man.”

“I know. But it could be.” Cas said it flatly, without even a touch of an imploring tone to his voice - but Dean could feel it, underneath the surface. How badly he wanted Dean to sing.

He looked down, and Dean cleared his throat.

 _No,_ said his head, knowing what he was about to say, _no, no -_

“Alright,” he said. “Fine. I’ll sing. But I’m not gonna win and it’s gonna be on you when I make a total dipshit of myself out there. Just… lower those expectations all the way down, and, uh...” He was an idiot. He was going to hate himself in ten minutes when he was being asked to get on that stage and sing in front of everyone. But that look on Cas’ face was too much and he utterly and completely could not resist it, and he wasn’t going to pretend to try.

Cas’ expression didn’t change - his mouth didn’t move, his brow didn’t crease - except that when he looked back up at Dean, his eyes were blazing with a happiness that he couldn’t completely dampen down, though it looked as though he were trying. It was staggering, and Dean felt his heart stumble a little harder - felt his head holding him back a little less, seeing that this seemed to mean something to Cas, as well. Something that he couldn’t contain inside, any more than Dean could.

If it had been anyone else, Dean would have been thinking _whoa, slow down, this is too much._ He searched for that feeling inside himself, and could only find that soft, insistent voice that murmured _Cas, Cas, Cas._

Dean swallowed, and looked down at the floor.

“Shut up,” he said, but he was smiling.

“I didn’t say anything,” Cas said, in a tone that was either so dry that it sounded sincere, or simply sincere.

“You said plenty,” Dean replied, and looked back up at Cas, whose happiness was still barely contained on his face. There was the sound of a door slamming from down the hall, and Dean blinked back to reality; Cas, too, seemed to suddenly remembered there was a world outside the pair of them.

“I’ll see you out there, then,” Cas said. “I just have to go get some water from my dressing room.”

“Weren’t you going into the bathroom?”

Cas blinked. “Right. Yes. I was. I forgot I didn’t… do that.”

“You don’t want more water before taking care of that,” Dean pointed out, using the humour to ease his way past Cas in the doorway on a laugh, so that it wouldn’t be too intense.

“Agreed,” Cas said seriously.

“Well, I’ll… see you round the front, then,” Dean said, and Cas nodded. Dean backed away, keeping his eyes on Cas, who kept his eyes on Dean until the door between them swung shut.

Dean turned to walk forwards, feeling as though his heart was ready to burst. He couldn’t drop the smile. There was definitely something happening between them, _definitely._ The way Cas had held his look, just then! God, it was completely undeniable, and Dean was so goddamn happy that he couldn’t stop goddamn smiling, even though he now had to go and sing on a stage - a cappella no less - for an audition to take part in a show he didn’t even _want_ to be a part of. Whatever. He’d sing for Robert Plant himself after inhaling helium, right now, if it meant he got to see Cas look that way at him again.

He passed Donna in makeup and gave her a quick thumbs up, heading out through the door and back into the main theatre. He took a seat at the end of the row of other auditionees, which was now around ten strong. The person sitting next to him - red-haired, with a label that said _Anna Milton, she/ her or they/them_ \- turned to him at once with a faint smile.

“Hey,” she said, and Dean, still buoyed up, found it easy now to smile back.

“Hi,” he said. He tapped his label. “I’m Dean.”

“Anna,” she replied.

“Cool.” Dean hesitated, and then took another plunge. “Do you, uh - do you mind if I ask about your pronouns?” he said. “Which ones should I use?”

“Either is good, actually,” Anna said. “She or they. I’m genderfluid, so what I really like is people using whichever pronoun feels right at the time. Kinda mixing it up, you know, whenever you feel like it. In the same sentence, in the same day, whatever.”

“Oh, huh. Okay, cool. Got it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“It, um - it feels like that acknowledges that I’m not always the same gender. Even though I’m always the same me,” Anna added lightly, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands neatly.

“Cool,” Dean said again, hoping that sounded sincere enough. He didn’t know whether to make a comment on how boring his own gender was, or whether that’d be patronising. Probably patronising, he thought. _Oh, I feel comfortable identifying as the gender I was assigned at birth, woe is me, I’m so yawn-worthy and boring and you’re so exciting and exotic…_ urgh. Nope.

“I love these things,” Anna said, touching a finger to her label. “I never get to have someone asking about my pronouns right off the bat, I always have to awkwardly bring it up or just not have it brought up at all. Anyway… so, how did you first get into Castiel’s music?”

Dean could hear in her voice that she was trying to navigate him into tranquil conversational waters where he would feel safe, and was grateful for the attempt, even if she had in actuality pointed them in the direction Dean least wanted to go. He coughed, and looked down at his shoes.

“Not that long ago, actually,” he said. “Kind of a new listener.”

“That’s cool,” Anna said. “Makes me feel like a total nerd. I’ve been listening ever since the first single was released. There’s just something about his voice, you know?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Dean said, honestly this time. There really _was_ something unique about Castiel’s voice; it was what made Dean so frustrated that he only sang such sugar-sweet pop songs all the time. They just weren’t doing him justice. “He’s got that kinda rough… throaty… powerful thing going on.”

“But so tender and sweet when he sings softly. I love when he hits those high notes,” Anna said. “Like in _Break My Heart,_ you know the bit I mean, he takes that note and he just draws it out, you know?”

“Totally,” Dean said, with no idea. Anna smiled.

“That track is so underrated,” she said. “I guess because it’s slower than his big hits. No one ever gets my references when I talk about it. It’s so good to be here with a bunch of other fans who actually know all his stuff.” She hummed a couple of notes, and Dean felt something stir in his memory - he thought he actually had heard that song, _Break My Heart,_ on the radio a couple of times. He hadn’t realised that Castiel was the one who sang it - Anna was right, it was so much slower and more emotional than Castiel’s usual style.

Dean shifted in his seat. He wanted to ask Anna how she’d heard about the audition, how she’d been invited, to try to figure out how Cas had managed to grab himself an invite and one for Dean, too - but if he asked, maybe Anna would start to question why he didn’t already know the process. Probably better to keep his mouth shut. If Anna got him kicked out of the auditions, maybe Cas wouldn’t know where to find him - maybe Dean wouldn’t see him again.

Up on the stage, someone was clapping for attention, and Dean’s head jerked up to see Jody up there. He craned his neck at the group around him, wondering if Cas had sneaked in and taken a seat somewhere else, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Dean frowned.

“Okay, everyone,” Jody said. “We’re going to ask you all to go backstage. We’ll have you all mic’d up even back there for the sake of the video, so please remember that as you’re talking to each other. You’re going to come out here when you’re called, sing, and then come off the stage and sit in the audience again until everyone is done. There are cameras set up around the room, as you can see. The judges are sitting just to your right - Balthazar and Gabriel - and they’ll let us know who’s won the chance to sing in the concert as soon as everyone has sung. Any questions?”

As everyone was still craning to get a good look at the pair of judges, Anna put up their hand.

“Yes?” Jody said.

“If we don’t make it,” they said, “do you think there’s a chance Castiel might watch the footage and see all of us who are auditioning to sing with him today?”

Jody put a hand on her hip.

“He’s a busy guy,” she said. “But I know he’ll do his best. Now, anything else?”

There was a general murmur in the negative, and Jody ushered them to stand up and head backstage. They trouped as a group down the corridor and round to the right at the end, this time, finding themselves in the darkened wing to one side of the stage. Dean could feel his heart hammering, just looking out onto the empty stage that was waiting for him to stand on it alone, and sing - but most of his thoughts were with Cas, who was going to damn well miss the audition he’d been so keen on, if he took any longer in the bathroom or getting his water or wherever he was. There was a big camera being ferried on the shoulder of a woman who had long hair with a single dyed-blonde streak, who said something to the group about not looking into the lens as they were fitted with little microphones attached to their lapels or shirt necklines.

“Now, first up,” he heard Jody say from the front, “we have Patience Turner.”

Where the _hell_ was Cas?

A young girl, no older than Kevin Tran, took a deep, steadying breath and then stepped out onto the stage. After a few moments, her backing track kicked in; Dean recognised the start of _Fooled Me,_ one of Castiel’s greatest hits. He managed not to roll his eyes, while Anna beside him gave a little happy sound of delight at Patience’s choice.

She began to sing, and her voice was lovely: sweet, lilting, soft. Dean went still at the sound of it. She sang a little breathily, and her control wasn’t perfect, but she was young and Dean himself hadn’t been able to sing shit at her age - and the emotion she put into the melody changed it into something else, a different song to the one Dean had heard overplayed on the radio.

“She’s good,” said a quiet voice from behind Dean; he whipped around, and saw that Cas was standing there, watching Patience out on the stage. There was something touched in his eyes as he watched, and Dean could tell that her voice had moved him, too.

“Where were you?” Dean said, too happy to see him again to sound properly worried.

“Late,” Cas said, and Dean left it at that. Patience’s voice started to fade a little towards the end, getting pitchy, but her last note was true as a bell and lovely. She was clapped uproariously as she left the stage.

“Hey,” said Anna, peering round Dean to see Cas. “I don’t think we met.”

“Not yet,” Cas said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Are you singing a Castiel song?” they asked. “Not everyone is.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Have you been a fan of his for long?”

“Oh… off and on,” Cas said, with a look in his eye that Dean couldn’t quite read.

“Okay, next, Meg Masters,” called Jody, and a dark-haired white woman gave the group around her a quick, confident smile before stepping out onto the stage. A rock song’s first strains sounded, and Dean’s face lit up.

“Oh man, Blue Öyster Cult,” he said. “Hell yeah, now we’re talking.”

Anna gave him a slightly odd look.

“We’re talking… about a song that’s exactly as good as any of Castiel’s,” Dean added. “Not better in any way. Just real good in a separate category, right there.”

Meg began to sing, her voice a little raspy but in an attractive, controlled way. She danced as she sang, swaying from side to side, working the microphone; Dean watched how confident she was, how easy she made it look to be out there in front of the judges; he tried to drink it in, absorb some of her knowledge and self-assuredness and obvious experience. Her turn ended to more applause, and Anna smiled at Dean.

“There are going to be too many good singers,” they said ruefully. “Castiel will never hear me.”

“He might,” Cas said. “You never know.”

“Ever the optimist?” Dean asked, and Cas smiled at him.

“Something like that.”

The next name was called; this time, Kevin Tran took to the stage. He grasped the microphone nervously. He looked so young out there - somehow younger than Patience. He had less of a presence on the stage; whether it was the floppy hair or just how he held himself, he looked so much more like a high schooler. Not necessarily a bad thing, Dean thought, given that he almost certainly really was a high schooler, and there was nothing wrong with looking like what you were.

“I’m going to, uh - be performing something from Castiel’s first album…” Unlike Patience and Meg, Kevin muttered a few words into the microphone as an introduction.

“Oh, no,” Cas said. “That’s the worst one.”

Anna gave him a scandalised look.

“Don’t you like it?”

“If Castiel is gimmicky and over-saccharine,” Cas said, “that album is the worst for it.”

“He’s not gimmicky or over-saccharine,” Anna said, sounding defensive, almost offended. “He’s brilliant. I mean, some of his songs have commercial appeal, yes, but all of them are brilliant.”

“Mmm. Sometimes I think he only knows how to write in people-pleasing clichés,” Cas said, catching Dean’s eye. “It’s all cute and nice and happy, isn’t it? Nothing real.” He sounded down about it, and Dean felt himself cringe inwardly. It seemed that Cas really had taken Dean’s criticisms of Castiel to heart.

“Sometimes people need a simple, dancey song to lift them up,” Anna said fiercely. “And he has other songs that are slower and more heartfelt.”

“Yes,” Cas said, “but -”

“Things don’t have to be about pain and suffering to be real. Cute and nice and happy can be real. That’s what Castiel’s music means to me. If you don’t like it, I don’t know why you’re here.”

Cas looked at her, his cheeks turning red.

“Well,” he said, and then stopped. Dean felt sorry for him - he’d only said what Dean thought, after all - but Anna made a strong freaking point. He could feel himself reddening, just a little, at his own views being so soundly called out, even if Anna didn’t know that it was Dean who had put those words into Cas’ mouth.

“You know,” Dean said, “you might be right. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

He really hadn’t. He caught Cas’ eye; Cas was looking at him in a way that was confusing and unreadable, but not negative so far as Dean could tell.

One by one, the singers stepped out onto the stage; there were all sorts of people, all ages and vocal styles and song choices. Dean heard some renditions of Castiel’s songs like he’d never heard them before - sung in a different voice, yes, but he was hearing them with new ears after Anna had defended them against his criticisms. The lyrics that he’d thought of as generic, they took on a delicate meaning when sung by people who loved them. Beside him, Cas seemed to be caught up in the performances on some profound level that Dean didn’t fully understand; there was a wistful, almost proud look in his eyes as each new hopeful took to the stage.

Anna was third to last; she put on a Castiel mask as she went, leaving only Dean and Cas behind the scenes.

“Leave the mask, please, Anna,” Dean heard Jody say. “We want to see that face of yours. Perfect. When you’re ready.”

Dean cleared his throat softly, and said,

“They made a really good point about Castiel’s music.”

“You think so?” Cas said quietly, as Anna began singing. He watched them, like he’d watched everyone, with a shine in his eyes that looked almost like he wanted to cry. They were singing one of Castiel’s old hits, _When You Come Home._

“Yeah. The lyrics to these songs aren’t bad, really.”

“Maybe it’s not the words that are Castiel’s problem,” Cas said. “Maybe it’s that he’s had no one to sing them to.”

He stared out at the stage for a moment longer, and then looked over at Dean. Dean met his eyes. Something passed between them, unspoken and wordlessly significant and momentary, and then they turned back towards the stage.

When Anna was finished, they gave a little bow at the applause and ducked down off the stage. They looked pleased but embarrassed by the attention, their red hair swinging down to cover their thin, fine-boned face.

“Dean Winchester,” Jody called.

Dean jolted. He had almost managed to forget that he was going to have to actually go on stage and sing, lost in standing next to Cas and measuring the distance between them, incrementally reducing it by shifting his weight onto one foot and then pulling away in case he was making Cas uncomfortable and then feeling his heartbeat pound when Cas shuffled one foot closer to Dean’s, nearing him again; now, though, with the empty stage beckoning him, he felt a thudding in his chest that was all stage fright.

A hand on his arm. Cas.

“If you want to run,” he said, “I’ll distract them.”

Dean’s coat was thick, but he swore he could feel the light press of Cas’ fingertips through it as though they were white hot. His mind slipped sideways, and he was thinking about kissing Cas all over again.

“No,” he managed. “No, I’m okay. I think I got this.”

 _I do not have this,_ he thought to himself as Cas let his arm go. _Please stop me from going out onto this stage and having to be myself in front of all these talented people. Please someone stop me. Please, ground, swallow me. Please, I am begging you._

The ground remained resolutely firm beneath his feet as he walked out onto the stage. He could hear nothing but his own breathing. This was so much worse than at The Refuge, worse even than the first time he’d ever gone up to sing there and totally bombed out of nerves; at The Refuge, everyone was on your side and even through his jitters, Dean had known that. It had made it easier.

Here, he knew no one. The judges were here to evaluate him. The rest of the singers were his competition. If he was bad, would they still clap him at the end? Would they laugh halfway through?

He cleared his throat. He should do some kind of intro, he know, like Kevin Tran had done; maybe mention that he was a total amateur, and that he had no backing track because he was - again - a total goddamn amateur, and that he was probably going to screw the whole thing up, because he was an absolute fucking goddamn amateur singer who had no place on an actual stage.

Someone coughed into the silence. Dean stood in front of the microphone, frozen. He looked out at them - the judges, the unfamiliar faces - and his throat was glued. He couldn’t do it. He _couldn’t._ He was going to make a total ass of himself by just walking off the stage without having sung a note.

 _Cas,_ said his frantic beating heart.

 _Cas,_ agreed Dean’s head, begging him to move, to sing, to speak, to do anything at all.

Dean picked up the mic stand, and turned it ninety degrees. He got behind the mic, facing off towards the wing instead of straight ahead, looking towards where Cas was standing. His eyes sought Cas’, and found them.

He breathed in, and breathed out. He searched for that feeling of being at The Refuge. Being secure, being capable. Cas was watching him. Dean was with someone safe. He could do this.

He looked like an absolute fucking weirdo, but he could _do_ this.

The silence was ringing.

Dean took the microphone in one sweaty hand, and opened his dry mouth. What were the first words? Could he even remember them?

Ringing, humming, hungry silence. Watchful, judging audience. Cas’ eyes. Cas’ eyes.

Dean knew the words. He looked into those eyes and he knew the words. Into the fierce silence, the dust-dry air and the dark, he sang,

“ _When the rain is blowing in your face...”_

He was pitchy with nerves. He sounded faint and unattractively raspy, his voice tiny and weak without a backing track. He almost stopped, but Cas was watching him, not taking his eyes off him.

Cas knew that Dean could sing this song. Cas wanted to hear Dean sing this song again. Fuck it, Dean was going to do it.

He breathed out sharply, the microphone ringing - and this time, he _sang._

“ _And the whole world is on your case,_   
_I could offer you a warm embrace_ _  
To make you feel my love.”_

There it was, the smoky shyness that gave his voice its edge, it emotion. He leaned into it, tapping out the beat to keep himself on time with one foot. When he had it, he let himself turn towards the little crowd in front of him, but kept glancing back to Cas when his nerves caught up with him again.

The verses rolled away, the chorus peaked - his voice didn’t break, he was safe, he was doing this, and no one was laughing. No one was whispering behind their hands. No one was getting up to leave with their hands covering their ears. Dean sang on.

 _“The storms are raging on the rolling sea_   
_And on the highway of regret._ _  
The winds of change are blowing wild and free…”_

Dean felt those winds in his bones, in his soul, when he looked at Cas, who was looking back at him. That wistful, proud look was on his face again, but there was no distance in it now, like there had been with the others - it was intimate, it was raw, it looked almost painfully happy. Blazingly happy, just like when Dean had told him he would sing. Dean smiled into the last line of the verse.

_“... You ain’t seen nothing like me, yet.”_

Dean had sure never seen anything like Cas. Never felt anything like this before, so immediately powerful, so annoyingly certain, that he was somehow out here on stage singing about it in front of strangers, less than twenty-four hours after it had started. He let the song roll on, bringing him home to the final refrain as he turned back to Cas one last time. There was no backing track to elegantly fade out. The song ended, and he was done.

There were several long, unbroken seconds of silence, and then the little huddle of watchers burst into claps and whistles. Dean held his gaze with Cas for as long as he dared, not wanting to leave the moment, the shining moment they were held in - but the treacherous seconds ticked on as always, and it was time for him to step down from the stage.

“And finally,” said Jody, “we have Jimmy Novak.”

Dean frowned as he took his seat beside the other auditionees. Jimmy? Who the hell was Jimmy?

Was that - was that _Cas?_ Cas was the only person left to sing, right?

Was Cas not Cas’ real name, just some kind of nickname? Maybe he was one of those people who preferred to go by his middle name. Or - he’d said he didn’t get on with his family, so maybe he had too many bad associations with his given name of Jimmy, and usually went by one that he’d chosen himself.

Jimmy. Short for James? Not a name that suited Cas well, Dean couldn’t help thinking.

Cas walked out onto the stage. He, too, had brought along a Castiel mask and he was wearing it - covering the eyes and nose completely, it had large dark eye-coverings made of mesh so that the wearer could still see out, but no one could see in. It was decorated in Castiel’s instantly recognisable signature design; white feathers, clipped close in places and flowing long and fluted soft to the sides. Only his mouth was showing. There was a hood that covered Cas’ dark brown hair. If Dean hadn’t been able to recognise Cas by his clothing, there wouldn’t have been a way to know for sure who was under the mask.

Dean waited for Jody to ask him to take the mask off, but she didn’t.

The start of Cas’ song kicked in, and beside Dean, Anna let out a little soft _oh_ of happiness. Dean recognised the few notes that she’d sung earlier, and made the connection; this was _Break My Heart._

Cas began to sing, and a different kind of hush fell on the room.

 _“Oh, if you’re gonna break my heart,_ _  
_ _Please, would you break it slow…”_

Dean felt his mouth drop open. Cas’ voice was, instantly and immediately, something _else_ ; it had a lovely throaty quality, a perfect control. It was rock salt in a river of soft water; it was caramel and coal, each note rounded and full.

 _“And if you’re gonna love and leave,_ _  
_ _Only go when you must go…”_

Dear God. Four lines in, and Dean didn’t know whether to bury his head in his hands for having ever got up on the same stage where Cas now stood, or whether to laugh, or whether to cry. Cas was making this song sound so effortless, it was as though it had been written for him. Along the row of other auditionees, Dean could hear whispers that seemed to be gradually getting louder, but Dean ignored them.

 _“Make this a perfect tragedy_ _  
_ _Make ours a long goodbye…”_

His voice soared on the last note, high and beautifully beseeching, bursting with feeling, and suddenly Dean found that Anna had grabbed his hand.

 _“And if you’re gonna break a heart,_ _  
_ _Please let that heart be mine.”_

“That’s Castiel,” Anna said to Dean, when he turned to look at her. “Oh my god… that’s him. That’s Castiel.”

“What?”

Dean turned to stare at the stage. The backing track was playing a soft instrumental guitar, the figure of Cas standing alone and unmoving on stage.

“That’s Castiel,” Anna insisted.

“Nah,” he said. “That’s Cas.”

Cas was heading into the chorus, now, and Anna subsided to listen to him sing.

“ _Oh, there’s a home in me for you_   
_I feel it, love, it’s true._   
_Oh, there’s a home in you for me_   
_You feel it, love, I see._   
_You’ve got a look in your bright eyes,_   
_I see the way they shine._   
_So, if you’re going to break a heart_ _  
Please let that heart be mine.”_

“I swear,” Anna said, “I’ve listened to his songs every day of my life for the past nine years, and that’s Castiel. No one else can sing it like that.”

“That’s impossible…” Dean said, but trailed off uncertainly as the second verse kicked in.

 _“Oh, if one day we’ll be apart_ _  
_ _I’ll still be yours, I know.”_

And now Dean couldn’t take his eyes off the man on the stage, off _Cas,_ the man he’d met at The Refuge. The man who knew about bee-keeping and Roman poets. The man he had a crush on. The man he’d totally trashed Castiel the singer in front of, last night…

The man who, right now, was singing in Castiel’s rich, strong, totally unique voice.

 _“And if it’s ‘cause you got old first,_ _  
_ _When I can, I will follow._ ”

Dean’s heart was in his throat. He didn’t know if he felt good, or bad, or neither, or both - but he felt it so much that he thought he might split in half _._

 _“I think one day you’ll break my heart,_   
_You’ll break my heart in two_   
_But I think that I could wait my life_ _  
On a heartbreak, if it’s you.”_

The chorus broke in again; Dean remembered this song from the radio, and yes, it had been softer and more touching than anything else Dean had heard by Castiel - but now, with Cas singing it, Dean could hear the weight in every word. The longing, the begging, the hopefulness, the ache.

 _“You’ve got a look in your bright eyes,_   
_I see the way they shine._   
_So, if you’re going to break a heart_ _  
Please let that heart be mine.”_

Cas let the final note rise, fly, and then fall. The guitar faded gently away, leaving only silence. As one, immediately, the group were on their feet; Anna was first to stand, whistling and clapping, her eyes looking shiny. Everyone seemed to know what was going on; only Dean appeared to be confused, last one out of his chair, his clapping off-beat with everyone else’s.

Cas reached up, and to gasps of amazement, he took off the mask he was wearing. His movement was quick and practised, and the feathers were gone. Underneath, he was the same guy that Dean knew - except now his hair was a lot more messy, ruffled by the mask’s dark hood.

Dean looked at him, and expected to see a stranger - but Cas was looking right at him, and only at him, his eyes asking the questions that Dean could have guessed Cas, the Cas he knew a little and liked a lot, would ask. _Are you OK? Are we OK? Is this terrible? Is it all over now?_

He looked like the answers mattered. Like they mattered a lot.

A thousand thoughts were boiling in Dean’s head and he didn’t know where to begin. He could only stare back blankly, no answers to any of the questions. He sat down when the others did, lost in surreality and strangeness. What was _happening?_ And _how_ could it be happening?

“Oh my god, it’s you! And that’s what you look like!” Anna said, when the room had finally fallen quiet, and everyone laughed - even Cas smiled. _Castiel_ smiled.

Fuck. _Fuck._ Dean was cringing to himself, his mind a whirl. Cas hadn’t even tried to hide it. Literally, he’d used a shortening of his stage name when he’d introduced himself last night. And Dean - clueless fucking Dean - had actually sat there and thought, _durr, I wonder if he changed his name to be more like Castiel’s because he’s such a big fan?_ Dean was an absolute idiot. He was beyond and out the other side of stupid.

There was a little pause, where Cas visibly took a breath and let it go.

“Well,” he said, deliberately casual. “Hi.”

Somehow, everyone seemed to find this very funny. Cas looked surprised, but not unhappy about it; his eyes, though, kept flicking to Dean, and then away.

“So… you’ve guessed who I am. I don’t want to talk too much right now and take up too much time, so I’m just going to thank you all so much for being here and for those performances you gave, and hand it over to the judges. I’m just here to see you all sing, today, and we can chat properly at the concert in a couple of weeks - because you’re all personally invited to a private meet and greet before the show.” He still sounded like Cas, but he was saying things that a celebrity would say, a pop star, someone whom everyone was desperate to meet and who therefore knew he had to manage expectations. Dean didn’t know what to think about that, didn’t know what he should be feeling. It felt like he was swimming in pool made of liquid air, slow-moving and impossible, barely breathable. “So for now, let’s hear the decision!”

“Hi guys, I’m Balthazar, one of your judges,” said a new voice with an English accent; a slightly smug-looking blond guy stepped up onto the stage, but Dean only had eyes for Cas, who took a step towards the back. Cas looked down at Dean.

 _What the fuck,_ Dean mouthed as Balthazar kept talking, not even sure that Cas could see him clearly enough to be able to read his lips - and it wasn’t enough. Those three words, mouthed through the dark, weren’t _nearly_ enough. Maybe around three percent of enough, on a good day with a fair wind. Cas, in full view of everyone, could only talk with his eyes as Balthazar congratulated everyone who had taken part; those eyes seemed to be saying a lot of eloquent and complicated things all in one single expression, and Dean couldn’t understand any of them.

“That said,” Balthazar continued, raising his voice slightly and recapturing Dean’s attention, “we were asked here to pick and announce a winner, so that’s what we’ve done.”

It would be Anna, Dean thought. Or Meg. Maybe even Patience, the kid was clearly talented.

“The winner today is…”

 _Be me,_ Dean’s heart begged, against all good reason, against the circumstances, against sanity itself.

 _Shut up,_ Dean begged it in turn. _Things are complicated enough -_

“... Dean Winchester!” announced Balthazar, and Dean dropped his head into his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments on the last chapter!! I've been having a tough couple of months and reading through them put a big smile on my face. I really appreciate your kindness. <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flap flap flap flap flap flap SQUAWK* that is the sound of a raven arriving!! the update is live!! I hope you enjoy. the next one will go up next Friday, on the 3rd May. Until then, friends!

It took twenty-three minutes for Cas to extricate himself from the group of excited singers, turning away with promises to be back soon, and giving Dean a brief significant look as he walked away. Dean considered, for half a second, simply leaving the theatre now and not looking back - but his feet were already walking him after Cas, following him backstage.

“Donna,” Dean heard Cas say in the makeup room as he walked down the brightly-lit corridor, “could we just have a moment?”

“Oh, sure, hon. Everything OK?”

Dean appeared in the doorway and Cas, about to say something in reply, paused with his mouth slightly open. His eyes searched Dean’s expression, and apparently found no conclusive answer.

“I’ll let you be,” Donna said, and made a tactful retreat. She left and unlatched the door from its hook on the wall as she passed by; it filled the seconds as it closed with a long, drawn-out creak.

Dean could only stare. He didn’t know what to think, or do, or say.

Cas still looked… just like Cas. The face Dean had been getting to know, getting to like. But that wasn’t just the face of Cas, that was the face of _Castiel_. International beloved megastar. Pop singer. Charity founder. Lover of Roman poetry and bees…

Dean’s head was a mess.

“So…” Cas said. His hands were opening and closing, down by his sides. “Dean, I - I have some things I want to say, but… maybe you want to talk first.” He watched Dean, who blinked back at him. He felt as vacant as a fishbowl without a fish.

“What… what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” Cas shifted. “Whatever it is you’re thinking?”

“I don’t - I don’t know what to think.”

Cas said nothing, only waited; Dean shrugged his shoulders, and a feeling managed to lap its way briefly over the numbing wall of shock - a slightly frantic, fervent confusion.

"You know I can't sing in the concert, right?"

Cas said nothing.

“Like, I don’t know,” Dean said. “I don’t - I don’t know! What’s the - what am I supposed to - what the fuck is the right reaction to _oh, hey, I met you last night at a bar, and now it turns out I’m the biggest freaking pop star on the planet, which I might have forgotten to mention before?_ Like, I don’t really have, like, any parameters here, you know, I don’t have anything to go on, I must have skipped _Finding Out He’s A Celebrity 101_ and I’m like, fucking, freaking out -”

He took a deep breath, and turned away.

"You fixed the result, right?"

"What?"

"The auditions. You asked them to let me win, didn't you?"

"No," Cas said, in a voice as solid as granite. "I had nothing to do with the result. I asked Balthazar and Gabriel to fly in especially so there would be no question of me tampering with the result. Everyone knows those two don't listen to me."

"You're shitting me," Dean said baldly, turning back to face Cas. "What, so I just happen to meet you in a bar and suddenly I'm beating out literal… professional singers…"

"I only invited you because I thought you stood a chance of winning."

"This - this is completely insane. This is insane."

“Dean, I should have told you…” Cas said.

“Oh, you think?” Dean said, the question whipping out quicker than he'd meant. Cas was watching him, hands still clasped tight. “You think maybe, possibly, you could have mentioned it to me yourself, instead of waiting for one of your fans out there to tell me as soon as you started to sing?”

“I… I should have,” Cas said. “I know I should have found a way. I just… I didn’t lead with it, and it’s hard to just… drop it into conversation…”

“I feel like you could have tried just a touch harder,” Dean said, going heavy on the sarcasm, now. He could see himself in Donna’s wide makeup mirror; he had his hands loose by his sides, and his expression was pale under the powder, blanched by shock.

“You’re right,” Cas said. "I’m sorry, Dean.”

“How did it even - how were you even _there,_ like, you’re freaking Castiel and you’re just… in a gay bar in Texas?” Dean couldn’t begin to wrap his head round it. Celebrities were supposed to be in a world of their own - they weren’t supposed to go out to tiny bars, and drink cheap mojitos, and talk about hanging out with Catullus over a fro-yo with complete nobodies. Celebrities were barely even people in Dean's head, they were concepts, they were golden glowing ideas. At the very least, Castiel should have had a glittering entourage. Cameras following him, and screaming fans.

“Well… it’s all very cliché,” Cas said. “I went out to The Refuge looking for one night off. One night to try out being a normal guy. I didn’t expect…” He gestured at Dean, encompassing the whole of him with a simple movement, as though words couldn’t contain it but an open-palm lift of his hand could manage. “I didn’t expect any of this to happen. I knew it was a mistake to go out, and then I knew it was a mistake to keep talking to you and getting to know you, and I knew it was a mistake to invite you today... I knew it was stupid, but I just…”

He looked at Dean, and closed his mouth, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from speaking. This time, Dean understood what they meant - understood, because he’d been thinking the same thing all day.

_This is a mistake. This is stupid. But God, I’m going to do it, because I really goddamn like this guy._

Of course, there was a slight difference between going along to an audition because you liked someone, and inviting someone to that audition without telling them who you are because you liked them.

“I just… I thought - I thought we were - like, I had a good time last night,” Dean managed, salvaging a bare minimum of sense out of the wreck of his thoughts.

“So did I,” Cas said.

“Was it - so, but like, uh. So like, when we were talking, all that stuff we talked about - was that real? Or just you pretending to be normal?” Dean asked. “Do you even keep bees? I just… it feels like I don't even know who I met last night, and like...”

He trailed off, not knowing where to go with the rest of the sentence.

“I showed you pictures,” said Cas. Dean paused, and then acknowledged this with a tilt of the head. There had been pictures of Cas in his beekeeping suit. He had been beaming into the camera. It had been adorable. “Everything I said was real. All of it. You met _me_ last night. I just didn't tell you about one part of my life.”

“A pretty big part,” Dean said. Cas shrugged his shoulders as if to deny it, and then seemed to think about it a little longer, and sighed.

“It doesn’t feel like the biggest part of me,” Cas said. “But yes, it is a big part of me. You’re right.”

Some of the wound-up energy, the anger and the confusion, seemed to ebb at Cas' undefensive softness, his agreement. Dean breathed out, watching Cas, still grappling with it all.

“OK, but then… wait, so, like, why didn't you just… say something?” Dean said. “If you weren't trying to be someone you're not? What was the point of hiding it? If you were trying to fake being a professional beekeeper or something just for the hell of it then yeah, I get why you’d hide it, but you didn’t even lie like that. You just didn’t mention it, I don’t get it. You didn’t have to hide it from me.”

Cas’ mouth twisted to one side, but he nodded at Dean's question.

“I actually… it’s complicated.”

Dean grunted. Of course it was.

“It’s hard to explain, I just… it felt so natural at the time to just set it aside, but… I think the reason I didn’t want to tell you about being Castiel is because... in every conversation I have, I _have_ to be Castiel. All the time.”

“Right…”

“I have to be, you know, on-brand and careful and relatable and so public-facing, that’s all Castiel. But he isn’t always me, he’s a persona, he’s a mask, he’s... a lifestyle, and... there’s someone more real than him and that’s me, that’s - the person you met and talked to last night. The person I was around you. Just me.” He lifted a shoulder awkwardly. “Just Cas.” He let out a breath. “I’ve actually not been in the situation of introducing myself to someone who doesn’t already know who I am for… years. You know, you were talking to me like I was a real person. You were actually talking to _me_ , not to this idea of who you think I might be because you've read some interviews and heard a few songs. I thought that if I told you, you might not see me anymore. I just… I think I pretended that Castiel wasn't real, because _I_ wanted to be real.”

He was looking down at the floor, and Dean swallowed hard. Looking at Cas, now, at the expression on his face, Dean got just a hint of what it was like to be him. The surreality. The hiding. The loneliness.

“I am so sorry, Dean,” Cas said. “For leaving you in the dark. I should have told you. I’m sorry for what I did. It was selfish.”

Dean didn’t know where to look, what to say, where to put his hands.

“It's a lot to take in,” he said.

“I understand. Look... if you can’t trust me because of this, that's more than fair. If you want to just walk out the door, then you can. Of course.”

 _Of course I don’t want to,_ Dean wanted to say. _But now I have no fucking idea if I should. If I stay, I’m only gonna - I’m only gonna like you more. How is that supposed to work? Even when I’m over the shock of all this... you’re Castiel, and I’m a nobody._

Dean looked into Cas’ eyes, and didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do. He believed what Cas was saying, but he was still adrift.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Dean turned; Jody opened it, and poked her head around.

“Castiel, they’re asking for you.”

“We’re just talking,” Cas said, and Jody raised her eyebrow - the effect was indeed, Dean had to admit amidst everything, pretty heavyweight - but made no further comment and closed the door again. For a few moments there was quiet, Cas watching Dean and Dean looking at the floor, trying to figure out how to phrase himself.

“I just… I don’t know where things go from here,” Dean said eventually. “Like, what happens here, even if I stick around and don’t leave right now? I’ve gotta come and sing on a stage with you? And then you leave to go on the rest of your tour, or what?”

“I have more tour dates,” Cas acknowledged quietly. “But I can come back to town…”

“Like, I don’t - I don’t want to just walk away and we never see each other again, ‘cause like… but like, you can’t… you don’t live here, we can’t exactly just…” Dean’s mind struggled for something to grasp onto, something to hold. Things between him and Cas had definitely had a feeling of something starting, and even through his shock Dean felt his heart keeping a firm grip on that one fact - but how was anything supposed to start between them now? How could they go on little dates or have long late-night talks or do any of the things Dean had been imagining? How could they get to know each other when Cas was always going to be busy being Castiel, was always partly someone else? And how dumb was it for him to even be thinking all of this, when they hadn’t so much as held hands or said anything about how they felt out loud or even goddamn known each other more than a day? Dean only had moments and lasting looks and that stupid certain feeling in his chest to convince him that anything was happening at all.

He wanted to figure this out. He wanted time with Cas, time to move past this and get to know each other better. But time was pretty much exactly what they didn’t have.

“We can still - I mean -” Cas said, and then there was another knock from outside. This time, it was Anna who poked her head around the door.

“Found you!” she said shyly. “We were wondering, is it OK to take pictures now? Your assistant was saying we could only get them at the meet and greet, at the concert, but we were thinking maybe we could take some without the mask on today -”

“I only do pictures with the mask,” Cas said.

“Oh, okay.” Anna smiled, looking a little disappointed - and then her expression shifted into curiosity. “Is everything… alright?”

“We’re just talking,” Cas said again. Anna nodded.

“Well… we’ll be outside!” she hinted heavily, and then let the door click close again.

She left behind an aching silence.

“Dean…” Cas said, breaking it with a single word said carefully, like strong hands cupping an eggshell.

“Your public is waiting,” Dean said, and looked up at him with a touch of defiance. This was it. Cas was going to go out there to meet his fans, and Dean was going to have to head out and walk away. Not because he wanted to - God knew he didn’t want to - and not because he thought Cas was a bad person or even a thoughtless person or a person who would often be selfish, but just because there was no way that Castiel’s life had room for Dean in it. Castiel’s life, which necessitated lying to be truthful, and pretending in order to be real - it was too complicated, too much. Castiel did nights off, not days together. And Dean couldn’t be his on-and-off respite, his way to come up for air, his irregular crush; that’d be the worst.

It was all about to end, Dean knew. This little whirlwind he'd been caught up in was about to set him down. And it would start with Cas walking through that door.

“Dean,” Cas said, unmoving. _Here it comes,_ thought Dean. _The goodbye._ “Dean… we can get out of here.”

Dean blinked.

“You - what?”

“I mean… if you want to,” Cas said. “We can just go.”

“Go where?”

“Anywhere.” Cas said the single word with a touch of rebellion.

“But - everyone outside -” Dean looked at Cas helplessly, shrugging. “Dude, they’re waiting for you.”

“I know, but - I don’t want to be Castiel right now,” Cas said simply, just a slight break in his voice showing his nerves. “I want to spend time with you. And it’s up to you, and there’s no pressure, and if you say no then I won’t ask again and I’ll go back into the theatre and say no more about it, but - you asked where things go from here and if I had the choice, I’d choose to go hang out with you, right now. For as long as you wanted. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since last night.” Cas said the last sentence as soft as a confession, not meeting Dean’s eyes.

In his chest, Dean’s heart was giving him trouble. The emotions it was feeling seemed to be manifesting as sudden knife-attack blows of disbelief and wanting, punching through his numbness and shock. Cas wasn’t leaving. Cas was giving Dean the choice. And Dean, adrift and powerless and kept in the dark, felt himself suddenly anchored by Cas’ willingness to let Dean decide.

“Cas… what do you want from me,” Dean said. “Am I supposed to tell you to be responsible and go back in there and do your job? Am I supposed to help you run riot for the day? What is it you want me to be?”

“Honest,” Cas said. “Honest about what you want. Whatever it is, the choice is yours. I’m in your hands.”

They stared at each other for a long, long moment. Dean could feel his capability for rational thought losing a battle with the pounding in his chest, the wordless exclamation marks of sudden hope in his head.

“But your fans,” Dean said weakly. “They’re expecting you…”

“I have had enough,” said Cas, “of doing what’s expected, when it is not what I truly want.”

“Won’t they be upset?”

“Today was never supposed to be photo opportunities and time to talk, just the performances and the announcement of the winner. I’ll be speaking to them all individually and giving them as much time as I can before the show in a couple of weeks. A private meet and greet.”

That sounded reasonable, Dean thought. More than reasonable. Yeah.

“But won’t you get in trouble?” Why was he still arguing against doing something he wanted to do?

“Dean,” said Cas, with a slight smile, “I don’t get in trouble with people. People get in trouble with me.”

Dean let the smile that he’d been holding back break onto his face; at the sight of it, Cas’ face eased, the tension around his eyes relaxing. Even though they hadn't moved, somehow they felt suddenly closer.

“Then let’s get out of here,” Dean said, feeling everything - his future, Cas’ future, the balance of what was to come - swinging around the fulcrum of those words, dipping and swaying into new angles.

“Really? Do you mean it?”

“I mean it,” Dean said. Meeting Cas’ eyes felt like a rekindling of their warmth, their electric magic connection. “Let’s go.”

That whirlwind, the one he’d thought was over, the one he’d thought had set him down - he could feel it scooping him back up again, just watching the excitement burgeon on Cas’ face. For a moment, there, he’d felt himself falling back down towards the ground, towards banality and a boring rest of the day at the garage; now, again, he was headed for the extraordinary. And he was doing it for Cas. _With_ Cas.

“Okay,” Cas said, moving past Dean towards the door, in a voice full of suppressed excitement. “Let’s go, before they come looking again.” He looked back to Dean momentarily, and Dean had the passing impression that Cas was going to reach back for his hand before leaving the room - but he turned away again, and Dean clenched his fist by his side as he followed Cas’ lead, turning left out of the makeup room.

“Isn’t the exit that way?” Dean said, coming to a halt and pointing towards the door that led into the theatre.

“No, this way is better,” Cas said. Dean stared after his retreating back for a moment, and then shrugged, and hurried after him. They pushed through a couple more doors, finally finding themselves in what seemed to be a crappy little dressing room at the very back of the building. The walls were stained brown in places and the one big window looked out onto a grey courtyard.

“Uh,” said Dean, as Cas made for the window.

“We’ll just…” Cas said, pushing on the glass, which opened outwards with a creak of protest. Cas swung his left leg up and over, and then turned to look back at Dean with one leg still inside the building and one out, straddling the window sill.

“Uh,” Dean said again.

“What?” Cas said.

“And we’re using the window because…”

Cas cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, “Jody doesn’t need to know what we’re doing immediately. I can text her. When we’re already far away.”

Dean tried to keep his face serious as he nodded along.

“Uh huh,” he said. “Mm-hmm. And what was that about you not getting in trouble with people, people getting in trouble with you?”

Cas blinked, seeming to connect his _People Answer To Me_ attitude with his apparent fear of Jody’s wrath for the first time. He opened his mouth to answer - but at that moment, from down the corridor they’d walked along, they both heard a voice faintly echo. They froze, Cas still halfway out the window.

“Who was -”

“Shh!”

They listened, Dean straining his ears.

The voice came again.

“Castiel? Are you down here? Everyone is waiting…”

Jody. Dean turned to Cas, expecting to see a resigned expression on his face - expecting their little jaunt to be over before it had begun, Castiel swinging his leg back inside the little shabby dressing room so that he could stand up straight and face Jody’s displeased eyebrow with both feet on solid ground.

Cas, however, had other plans.

“Go,” he said in a tone of unexpectedly single-minded determination, grabbing for Dean’s arm and half-pulling him towards the window and the outdoors. “Go, go, go!”

Cas, more gracefully than his dancing would have allowed Dean to expect, flipped his leg over the sill and was gone, was free; Dean, hearing Jody’s footsteps pounding closer, shoved himself through the window any way he could make it. Arms flailing to keep his balance, he pelted outside and half-stumbled; Cas caught his weight, and then they were off and running. They made it round the corner of the building without anyone calling out their names or a demand to stop, but they kept up the pace until they were a full block away from the theatre.

When they halted to take a breather, it was by common consent, both slowing down and putting their hands on their knees to breathe.

Dean found himself grinning uncontrollably; when he glanced over at Cas, he saw an expression of slightly lost and shocked giddiness.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out as they straightened up and clapping a hand to Cas’ shoulder. Just once, not lingering. “You OK?”

“Yes,” Cas said, still breathing a little fast. “Yes, fine.”

“If that was a kinda spur-of-the-moment thing that you wanna take back,” Dean said, “that’s OK by me. We can head back in.”

Cas took a deeper breath in, and held it for a second, and then let it go.

“No,” he said, and then smiled at Dean. “No, I’m alright.” He looked around them, blinking at the unfamiliar street. “Where are we?”

“About a minute’s walk from my car,” said Dean. “And about fifteen minutes’ drive from the place where I heard they’ve got a Christmas market going up this year.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Cas. “Hot drinks, tacky stalls, gifts you wouldn’t get for your worst enemy. How ‘bout it?”

Cas’ smile was sardonic, yes - but there was only truth in his voice when he said,

“That sounds perfect to me.”

***

The market was everything Dean had imagined it might be, and then around ten thousand percent more bizarre. It was the first time a market quite like this had come to town, as far as Dean knew; Sam had seen the fliers for it, and said he’d seen something like it once when he’d gone to Amsterdam for his bachelor party around Christmas. They had little wooden huts covered in sparkling cotton-wool snow, filled with glittering baubles and house decorations; on trestle tables, sellers had spread out huge plates of cookies and cakes, all flavoured with Christmas spices; Dean doubted, however, that the Amsterdam market had had a plastic cowboy Santa statue at the entrance, with horses pulling his sleigh and a red stetson on his head.

Dean led Cas through the bustle of the crowds, resisting the urge to take his hand just to make sure they wouldn’t lose each other. They stopped off at a stall and bought spiced cider, breathing in the steam and taking little sips as they wandered on through the market. Cas wanted to see everything, from the wood-carved reindeer of varying sizes on display in one hut to the collection of records and band posters for sale in another.

“They’ve got Prince,” Cas said, his back to Dean, who was flipping through a big basket of posters for more modern singers. “And Aretha Franklin, oh… I have to have this.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, when he’d found what he was looking for. Cas turned, and Dean presented him with his own face - masked, of course, by feathers, and superimposed over a simple white script that said only, _Castiel._

“Head’s in the way of the writing,” Dean observed. “Looks like it says ‘Ca-el’.”

“Maybe that should be my new nickname,” Cas replied, giving the poster a complicated look before turning back to the box full of classic records.

“Didn’t Superman beat you to the punch?”

“Superman?” Cas’ voice sounded blank.

“Yeah, you know, because his name is… you know what, actually, he’s not even remotely the best superhero, so it doesn’t even -”

“Oh! Kal-El.” Cas turned back to Dean with a smile. “I’ve never read the comics, but someone once sent me some fanart in a letter with me as Superman, and she labelled it Cal-El.” He turned back towards his records. “It took me half an hour of Googling to figure out what she meant.”

Dean caught the expression of the person running the booth, who was eyeing them oddly.

“Cas here’s a big fan of Castiel,” Dean explained. “Gave himself the nickname _Cas_ just to be like him, if you’ll believe it. Even runs a fan group about him online.”

“Ah, well... Castiel ain’t bad at all,” the seller replied diplomatically, with a nod to Cas, who paid no ostensible attention.

Cas bought two Aretha Franklin records, and paid for them with a single crisp note plucked off a thick wad of cash that Dean watched appearing and disappearing back into Cas’ pocket. He believed what Donna had said about Cas living fairly frugally, all things considered - the guy just didn’t have the air of someone who couldn’t live without a three-thousand-dollar coffee maker and daily spa treatments - but the way he peeled the notes apart belied his grounded attitude. How often did he do his own shopping, Dean wondered. How often did he have to use cash.

Dean bought the _Castiel_ poster. He tried to do it quickly, without drawing attention, but Cas peered over his shoulder to look at it as he paid.

“If you wanted a poster,” Cas said as they walked away, sounding as though he found it distasteful, “there are always some around. You didn’t have to pay for it.”

“I just wanted it,” Dean said.

“Why?” Cas blew out a breath of laugher through his nose as he reached over to take Dean’s empty cider cup in his hand, and drop it along with his own into a trash can as they passed. “You don’t even like the songs.”

“Hey.” Dean took his arm, pulling him off to the side of a hut where things were quieter. The main thoroughfare of the market continued to heave and shift with the crowd, but beside the wood-panelled side of the stall selling snow globes, they had a moment’s peace. “Listen. About what I said, at the bar…”

“You were honest,” Cas said simply. “I haven’t ever heard anyone be so honestly, accurately critical of my music like that to my face. It was refreshing.”

“I was rude,” Dean said. “Just plain rude, man, gutting your work to your face like that.”

“You couldn’t have known you were doing it to my face,” Cas pointed out, “because I hadn’t told you that that was me. That was my fault.”

Dean paused.

“Yeah,” he said, “yeah, well… maybe we’re square, then?”

Cas pulled a face. “All you did was be honest,” he said.

“And all you did was be yourself, like you said,” Dean replied. “And honestly, I’ve been thinking about it… the, uh, the spiced cider really did amazing things for my ability to think clearly…”

“It’s the cinnamon, I think,” Cas said solemnly. “Very good for the thought processes.”

“Absolutely. Nah, but I was just thinking, if it were the other way round, and you were pissed at me for not telling you that I, like, work with cars, I’d be like… dude…maybe I just didn’t wanna say, didn’t think it was relevant, and anyway I don’t have to, because I don’t owe you crap. Just because _your_ job comes with being super famous and shit doesn’t mean I have a right to know about it.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I’m not saying that I like being kept in the dark about stuff, and I wish you’d given me the heads up about the audition, but like… I get it, can’t be easy to know when to tell me and you said yourself, normally people just know who you are. Not like you got a lot of practice and shit. So… it’s cool, is what I’m trying to say. It’s okay. You get to decide when to tell me shit.” Cas looked unconvinced. “I’m honestly not mad at you.”

“You’re not?”

“Nah. And, like… who knows, if you’d led with it, maybe I wouldn’t have talked to you for as long as I did because I was dumb and had opinions about your music. And then I’d be missing out on this.”

“This conversation by the side of a wooden hut.”

“It’s such a beautiful hut,” Dean said seriously. “Look at this timber. I almost missed this.”

“A tragedy narrowly avoided,” Cas said, seeming to unbend with the humour.

“Like… but you get me, right? What you said or didn’t say, it meant we’re both standing here right now, and it’s exactly where I wanna be. I mean, this is probably, like, teak or something.”

“I don’t want to hide things,” Cas said. “But Dean, I - there’s things about me that - that I don’t know how to talk about or bring up.”

“More than being an international superstar?” Dean said incredulously, and Cas shrugged. “Well... look. Right now, we’re just here to have fun. We can talk about whatever you want whenever you want, but in the meantime, we can just hang out, right?”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“I mean… are you an axe murderer?”

Cas shook his head.

“Then I’m probably okay. Look, you don’t have to tell me dick about yourself really, do you? You don’t owe me anything about yourself and your life, when it comes down to it.”

“Maybe I want… to,” Cas said, hesitant, his voice flat in the way that Dean was coming to associate with him showing nerves. He felt his own cheeks reddening, suddenly flustered.

“Nah. You can tell me about all your shit whenever, like I said. But you’re never gonna owe it to me. I mean it.”

“I do want to tell you about it. It’s just - it’s complicated.”

“I get it. I have my shit, too, I guess. We have boundaries, man. It’s cool. We can keep those.” Dean cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure whether he was striking the right tone; everything Cas was saying seemed to be pointing towards the fact that he saw some kind of future with Dean, some reason why what they did now might matter later - but he didn’t want to lean too hard into that, or ask about it, and freak Cas out. Freak himself out, too, if he overthought it. “But, like, to get back to the whole point... I was wrong about your music. I gotta tell you. Your song that you sang earlier…”

Dean trailed off. As the memory of Cas singing came back to him - this time unbenumbed by the shock of discovery, rather warmed by the presence of Cas right in front of him - Dean felt his heart squeeze in his chest. He touched the tip of his tongue just to the line of his top lip, and shrugged.

“You liked that one?” Cas ventured.

Dean looked at him. Cas was watching him, but Dean had no idea what he was thinking. He wasn’t leaning in towards Dean, or looking hopeful for touch, so Dean again pushed away the knife-sear impulse to kiss him and smiled.

“Yeah,” he said. “I really, really did.”

“Well, then.” Cas looked as though he was trying, very hard, not to look too happy - but he couldn’t quite keep the corners of his mouth from turning upwards. “Well. Good.” He glanced around at the market around them. “So, um… anyway, shall we? There were some cookie-cutters back there that I wanted to look at…”

Dean grinned.

“Let’s go,” he said.

***

Dean collapsed into bed that night at ten-thirty. Stripped of his clothes except his boxers and a t-shirt, he lay under the blankets and stared at the ceiling. He felt almost breathless, giddy with disbelief.

After the market, he and Cas had wandered through the shopping district, stopping everywhere so that Cas could have a look at just about everything. He seemed so out of touch and naive - and then he would point out the saucepans and spatulas in a homeware store, and comment on how the soft non-metal handles would keep hands from getting burns, or something equally low-key and unthinkingly pragmatic. He’d bought a set of jars for his beekeeping, and also a new t-shirt for twelve dollars ninety-nine. He wasn’t some spacey celebrity who never did anything for himself - but Cas also was so surprised and fascinated by so many small things that he never felt fully a part of the normal world. He had his feet so much on the ground, and his head so much in the clouds.

Dean frowned, and sat up, and picked up the guitar that he kept under his bed, moving the laundry that he always kept on top of it in case Sam or anyone else should ever come around and start asking what was up with the actual guitar under Dean’s bed. There were so many places those questions could lead, and Dean wasn’t ready for any of them.

He strummed a chord, and then another.

 _“Head in the clouds,_ _  
_ _And your feet on the ground,_ ” he sang, feeling out a melody, shy even though he was singing alone. _  
_ _“Your voice out loud,_   
_It’s my new favourite sound.”_

He plucked notes out of the air at random, the rhymes coming to him as he sang. He played a bad chord and winced, shifting on the bed. His legs were starting to rise up into goosebumps now that they weren’t covered by the blanket, but he had more words floating into his head, and he carried on playing.

 _“Look at your eyes,_ _  
_ _They’re the colour of blue._ _  
_ _Where should I be,_   
_Yeah, right next to you.”_

Not exactly his best work, but he didn’t feel like penning a masterpiece. He just felt like singing about Cas. Man. _Cas._ Dean’s head was bursting with him. When they’d said goodbye, Cas had smiled at him like… God, were there words for a feeling like that? Or was it something you only understood if you’d felt it?

“ _Wish I could say_ _  
_ _All these things on my mind._ _  
_ _Am I moving too fast,_   
_Will I leave you behind…”_

Dean could tell that Cas wasn’t a fast-paced kind of guy, or at least not in some ways; all day, he’d been warm and even a little flirty with his words, sometimes, but never leaning in to be touched or trying to touch Dean - and yet there was _something,_ there was a tension there, as though he _wanted_ to be touched but wasn’t sure if he should want it. Split seconds where he lingered, before slowly moving himself away.

“ _Head in the clouds,_ _  
_ _And your feet on the ground._ _  
_ _I swear with me, now,_   
_You would be safe and sound.”_

God, that was gross. Thank God no one could hear him.

Cas didn’t trust Dean - not enough to want to push their relationship to the next level, yet, or act on the way that he might be feeling. It definitely _seemed_ like he was feeling something, especially when Dean thought back to their conversation by the hut about things Cas wanted to say about himself… that wasn’t a conversation you usually had with someone when you just wanted to hang out casually, was it? And there again, in that conversation, Dean thought, was that pulling-away, that uncertainty; Cas didn’t feel comfortable enough around Dean, yet, to talk about some things. That was totally natural, though, wasn’t it? After such a short time.

Dean himself… he knew he _should_ have that same lack of trust, that hesitance, that worry. He should be freaking out, pulling away, telling lies, hiding things, shaping himself into what he thought Cas must want most and trying to maintain that for as long as he could, or else looking for a way to get him into bed and then move on. That was how he did things, always. Even when he didn’t want to, even when he really tried not to, he always ended up keeping all the truest things about himself locked away - pushing the person out of his life. Deep down, it was what he always felt he needed to do. Except with Cas, he just… somehow… didn’t.

There was no tug of fear in his chest when he thought about opening up to Cas. He wasn’t catching himself saying things that weren’t true, he wasn’t noticing himself playing up to Cas’ expectations. He was just being… himself. As though Cas finding him in The Refuge, where he was the most openly Dean, meant that Dean wasn’t afraid to be Dean all the time around him.

Cas could have asked, and Dean would have told him anything. Everything. Maybe he’d feel differently in the moment if that were put to the test, and maybe it wouldn’t last, but for now, he felt like he just wanted to sit with Cas and explain himself and hear Cas explain himself and understand him and be understood, because he felt like with Cas, that could actually happen. He had that kind of non-judgemental yet principled kind of vibe to him that made Dean feel like he could speak freely to a good person.

They’d been so easy in each other’s company. There had been something between them that had felt… good? That was lame. A lame word. But it was the best that his mind could summon up. Good, but not in a superficial kind of way. On the surface, yes, they got on well, but underneath there was a constant thrumming thread of _good,_ something more profound than Dean could have reasonably expected to feel after just about twenty-four hours of knowing Cas.

For once, then, Dean wasn’t worried about opening up to someone. It felt giddy and strange and terrifying and somehow incredibly safe, all at the same time. It was so _much,_ when so little had happened. Dean was almost embarrassed. God, if Sam could hear Dean’s thoughts, he’d laugh himself stupid. Or maybe just be totally horrified. Dean pushed those thoughts away.

No, opening up might be an issue for Cas, but for Dean it just didn’t feel like a big deal. The problem that Dean could see was a far more logistical one. Cas was going to play his show in Austin - and then he’d have to move on to the next city, the next gig. He couldn’t stay here with Dean. And sure, people did distance relationships, but were either of them going to be ready to call it that after just a couple of weeks of knowing each other - especially at the pace that Cas was keeping to, which was slow and easy? What were they going to do, have Dean fly out every weekend to wherever Cas was touring for a quick date - Singapore, Sydney, wherever - and be back in time for work on Monday? This, off the back of a late-night meeting and, if Dean were lucky, a couple of weeks’ worth of dates? And… a show in front of thousands of people, where they were going to apparently sing… together?

He wasn’t thinking about that. There wasn’t room in his head and it made his gut twist up.

Dean strummed a few different chords.

“ _You’re so gorgeous,_ _  
_ _I can’t say anything to your face,”_ he sang.  
“ _‘Cause look at your face._ _  
_ _And I’m so furious_ _  
_ _At you for making me feel this way._   
_But what can I say -”_

He cut himself off and put down the guitar, and reached for his phone, which was sitting on his bedside table. He flicked to his photos, scrolled past a couple of pics he’d snapped of a potential Christmas present for Sam, and found it. Cas had been leaning up against the side of another hut at one point, waiting for Dean to come back with reindeer-shaped sugar cookies, and he’d looked so - so _gorgeous_ standing there, that Dean had taken a photo of him, balancing the cookies in one hand and taking the picture on his phone with the other. Cas hadn’t noticed. His blue eyes were looking upwards, at the sky.

Dean picked the guitar back up, setting the phone down in front of him. He returned to the chords he’d been playing for his own little half-song.

“ _Head in the clouds,_ _  
_ _And your feet on the ground._ _  
_ _You look at the sky,_   
_Tell me, what have you found.”_

He wasn’t quite sure what that last part meant. Whatever.

 _“Took your photo_ _  
_ _Without you knowing I did._ _  
_ _Is that creepy…”_ Dean paused, searching for a rhyme.  
_“Or are you a squid.”_

Poetry, he told himself. Absolute poetry. He put the guitar away under his bed, too tired to heap the laundry back on top of it. He could do it in the morning.

He sank into sleep, and his dreams were coloured blue.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, it's here!! I hope you enjoy this chapter nugget. Deep-fried and full of goodness. The next chapter will be up in a week, Friday the 10th! Good luck with this week, my dears. I hope it brings you many delights <3

_ "Hey, you’ve reached Charlie’s phone. If you’re hearing this, you’re about to leave me a voicemail. Please just text instead, it’s 2019. Okay thank you bye.” _

_ Beep. _

“Hey, Charlie, it’s Dean. So, listen… you know that guy you know, the one you sent to The Refuge… Cas? I might have, uh. Well, can you call me? Alright. See ya.”

Dean hung up, and slid his phone into the pocket of the robe he was wearing over his t-shirt and boxers. His full-length, quilted robe.  _ Do you really need this,  _ Sam had said, because he’d been there when Dean had bought it and he’d had opinions about it.  _ Do I need to wake up every morning and feel like a king in my own home?  _ Dean had answered.  _ Uh… yeah. _

It was something about the collar on it, and the luxuriant softness. It was just plain regal.

He flipped his omelette over in the frying pan with his spatula, reaching for the salt with his free hand, but in a kingly way. This was a royal breakfast. He was going to add a royal amount of seasoning. He opened a drawer, hand reaching for the royal cutlery.

Inside his pocket, his phone buzzed; Dean half-dropped his fork in surprise, barely managing to clasp onto it, and he set it down with overemphasised care on the counter before he reached to pick up the call. Royal care. Royal call.

_ Charlie,  _ read his screen. Dean was smiling before he even brought the phone to his ear.

“Hey, stranger,” he said, picking up his spatula again and giving his omelette a few pokes.

“Three whole days without speaking,” Charlie said, her tone lightly sarcastic. “You’re right, it’s like we barely know each other any more.”

“Every moment without you is an eternity.”

“Oh, be still my heart. And screw you for leaving a voicemail, by the way. You know I hate listening to those things.”

“I’m cooking. My fingers are all greasy, I can’t text.”

“And you didn’t even invite me over to have some? Seriously now, I don’t know you.”

“Okay, but you hate omelette.”

“It’s omelette?”

Dean reached for his salt shaker. The early-morning sunlight was twinkling off his bare granite countertops.

“Hell yeah.”

“Eeeurgh... I can’t believe you still eat them.”

Dean snorted. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Have pancakes every morning instead, out of respect for our friendship.” Dean could hear the sound of tapping in the background, probably Charlie typing up some code before work. The noise was familiar enough to make Dean smile; he could picture her at her desk, empty cans of energy drink everywhere, screen glowing.

“Hmm,” he said. “I’ll consider it.”

“Anyway, anyway, come on. Don’t leave me hanging.”

“Hanging?” Dean said, playing it cool.

“Hello? You and Cas?”

“Well…” Dean prodded the omelette. “Yeah, I guess? I mean… I don’t know?”

Charlie sighed. “Dish deets. Now. I’ve gotta go to work in half an hour.”

Dean tried to figure out how to begin.

“Well… so, we met two nights ago. Two nights? Yeah, uh… it was Friday,” he said, and reached for a plate in the top cupboard. His robe’s sleeves swung magnificently. He was a  _ king.  _ He pinned the phone between his ear and his shoulder. “And, like… we hit it off pretty good, I guess.”

“Yeah-huh.” Charlie sounded vaguely smug.

“No. Nuh-uh. No way. You aren’t getting credit for this.” Dean seasoned his omelette liberally. “It does not count as a setup because you did not know we would hang out -”

“It counts,” Charlie said. “I sent him there. Yet another victory for Bradbury. Seriously, I’m so damn good at this matchmaker thing, remember when I set up Jenna and Tracy?”

“This doesn’t count like that counts.”

“It  _ does.  _ Anyway, anyway, we’re on you. Continue.”

“Ugh. Well, so he invited me to... wait. You know… who he is, right?”

“Mega-famous international superstar? Yeah, totes.”

“Man… I should’ve called you that night. Just to get the facts,” Dean said, tipping his omelette onto the plate and turning off the heat on the stove. “Okay, so, long story short, he invites me to this audition for a show of his, without telling me who he is. I only find out when he’s literally on the stage, right, I’m all like -”

“What the fuck?”

“Exactly,” Dean said, feeling a little burst of vindication. It  _ was  _ weird. He grabbed his plate and headed over to the stools he had on the far side of the counter, where he usually ate breakfast. “Like, it’s okay. He didn’t owe me shit all information about his life and I get why he kept it quiet, we talked about it and everything, but -”

“Wait. Hold up. Dean Winchester… talked about something?”

“Shut up,” Dean grinned.

“No, seriously? You and Cas talked about something that happened? Did you… did you tell him… how you  _ feel?” _

“Well,” Dean said, “actually -”

“Is the man a wizard? You opened up to him after knowing him, like, twenty-four hours?”

“Shut  _ up.  _ I’m just trying to, like… I dunno. I’m trying real hard.”

“No kidding. You  _ talked  _ to him. Christ.”

“You should have seen our first conversation.”

“Oooh. Spill.”

“Well, so, we had some drinks and danced a bit, and then -”

“Hold up. Cas  _ danced?” _

“Yeah,” Dean said, smiling at the memory. “He did. Doesn’t he usually?”

“He once told me he’d rather eat a whole box of cherries.”

“Uhh…”

“He’s deathly allergic to cherries.”

“ _ Oh.  _ Huh. Well… he danced.”

“Was he good at it?”

Dean thought for a moment.

“Yes,” he decided, out of loyalty more than honesty.

“What the fuck,” Charlie said. “Dean talks. Cas dances. What is going on. I’d be freaking out except this is the best thing to ever happen, maybe? Like, you should know I literally hiccuped with joy when I got heard your voicemail.” 

Dean snorted. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Tell me I’m adorable? I don’t know. Anyway, you were saying.”

“Yeah, so, we talked about a bunch of stuff. His music came up and I somehow ended up talking about what love is, or some shit…”

Charlie made a noise reminiscent of a shocked cat. “Dean, I’ve seen you drink enough that you could barely see and you were a stone wall. You were  _ marble.  _ Maybe slightly sloppy and grumpy marble, but like… you talked about  _ love?  _ I’m so…”

“Yeah, it was dumb. I dunno.”

“Seriously, what is it? Is this some new life attitude or is this, like, Cas?”

Dean licked his lips.

“I’m just trying to do this right.”

There was a slight pause.

“Okay,” Charlie said, as though she understood something. “Alright.” Dean swallowed.

“Anyway, so like, finding out who he is when he was up on stage… really something.” He took a bite of omelette, and savoured it. God, he could cook a good omelette. Maybe a little too heavy on the salt, but he was nitpicking.

“I’ll bet. Jesus, Cas. That’s some interesting decision-making. Like, we’ve all been in that situation where we do something weird on a first meeting and then regret it but, like, my worst was probably that time I told Jenna that I like Nickelback and then she wanted me to go to see a tribute band with her. Like, this is why I had to set her up with Tracy. It was way too awkward. I can’t even remember why I said I liked them.”

“Maybe you secretly do.”

“Nickelback wishes,” Charlie said. “So, come on, what happened next?”

The tone of impatience was a little rich given that the distraction was all her, Dean thought, but he said,

“Well, we went out to this Christmas market and ditched the audition.”

“Oooooooo.” Charlie made a coy little song out of it.

“No, no, nothing happened. Like, that’s kinda why I’m calling, actually, ‘cause I wanna know, uh. Does Cas usually, like… I mean, sometimes he seemed super into it, honestly, and we have these, like, moments…”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Charlie said smugly, and Dean groaned.

“Don’t make this weird, come on.” He took another bite of omelette.

“I’m not, I’m not. Go on.”

“Okay, so, but like… then sometimes, even though I felt like he wanted to, like… touch, or something…” Dean could feel himself actually going red, just trying to explain. “Urgh.”

“No, no, go on.” Charlie was beaming all over her face, Dean could hear it in her voice. “I’m living for this. Dean Winchester, asking me questions about  _ feelings. _ ”

“You’re the worst. Literally the worst.” Dean was half-tempted to hang up, but damn it, he wanted an answer to his dumb freaking feelings question.

“I’m adorable,” Charlie said. “Seriously, go on. I’m listening. He wants to… mmmmm… touch.”

“Screw you for saying it like that, but, uh, yeah. Like, no big thing, just like tapping my shoulder to get my attention or, like, pulling me towards a stall at the market, or whatever… but it feels like he stops himself. I don’t know if I’m totally misreading him, is the thing. It’s making me doubt stuff. Like, maybe he doesn’t even actually like me at all, he just kinda has an intense vibe sometimes and I’m taking it as something it’s not meant to be. Like, I’ve seen his Castiel interviews, I know he’s into dudes, but… I don’t know, I don’t wanna assume. My gut says he likes me but, like, I don’t know. I don’t know.” Dean took a breath. “So, yeah. That’s that.”

“Holy crap, Dean, you have it so bad.” Charlie sounded genuinely amused, but her tone was warmer and kinder than it had been. “Did you say it had been two days?”

“Yeah,” Dean said defensively, “but, like -”

“I haven’t heard you like this about what someone else might be thinking about you since, like… maybe ever, actually.”

Dean ate his omelette. “Well. He seems like a good guy. I dunno.” He wasn’t even going to try to go into the flash of instant certainty that he’d had when he’d seen Cas for the first time, wasn’t going to begin attempting to explain how he felt any more than that. Charlie didn’t need any more ammunition. He chewed.

“Yeah-huh. Okay. Well.” Dean could hear Charlie take a sip of something and swallow it. Probably an energy drink, knowing her. “Cas wasn’t ever someone to warm up to people fast, if that’s what you’re asking. He had a few good friends in school and they were  _ really  _ good friends and everyone else he kinda just ignored. There were reasons for that, but yeah. Wasn’t exactly an open book. He’d take time to feel comfortable with someone.”

“Yeah, I get that. It’s not that I think we should be moving faster, just… like… I wanna know if we’re even in that zone for him. I mean, you said it.” Dean tapped his fork against the side of his plate. “I’m… you know, I… I - yeah. Pretty much, if he doesn’t like me that way, I need to pull back. Because otherwise it’s gonna get real bad for me.”

“Aw, Dean.” Charlie was smiling; Dean could hear it in her voice. “Look, I don’t know. Cas keeps himself to himself mostly. It’s hard to know what’s going on in his head. But if you feel like he might like you, and this soon, that’s pretty rare. It might be... he just… have you talked to him about, like… how he likes to date?”

“Uh… nah,” Dean said. “You know, like… I don’t wanna push things. It’d just be like getting out a big banner saying  _ hey I like you  _ and then, God, if he doesn’t like me back, he’ll probably tell me and be really nice about it, and then…”

“... yeah?”

“Then I’ll know,” Dean said lamely. “That he doesn’t like me.”

“You just said you wanted to know.”

“I - well, yeah, but - I mean…” He didn’t  _ really  _ want to know that, even one bit. Maybe he should know it, if it was a fact that Cas didn’t like him - maybe he needed to know it - but he didn’t  _ want  _ to.

“It’s okay. I get it. Look, man, just do what feels right. Play it by ear, don’t overthink. It sounds to me like it’s going great. The more time you spend with Cas, the better he’ll like you. When are you next seeing him?”

“Uh, tomorrow. I’ve got a rehearsal with him.”

“Cool. Wait - a... rehearsal?”

Dean cleared his throat.

“Right, uh, that’s the other thing. I, like, maybe… possibly… won the audition contest, uh, thing… and, like, you know the show Cas is doing in Austin in two weeks?”

“Oh my god.”

“Well,” Dean said, “I’m kinda… I guess… singing in it?”

“Oh. My. GOD. DEAN.”

“Yeah, I… I haven’t really…”

“DEAN!”

“Yeah, it’s - yeah,” Dean said, feeling himself smiling - realising for the first time that this could actually be something to be... proud of? Something that wasn’t just about Cas and spending time with him. Something that he’d actually managed to  _ win. _

“Cas said he didn’t fix it,” Dean said.

“What? Of course he didn’t, he wouldn’t have needed to.” Dean snorted, and Charlie mimicked the noise right back at him. “Yeah, I said what I said. You’ve been stuck singing karaoke and making drunk people cry at The Refuge for too long. This is amazing. THIS. IS. AMAZING.”

“Yeah, it’s… yeah,” Dean said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. His gut still twisted every time he thought about the concert, but at least Charlie wasn’t assuming that Cas had cheated to get him there.

“I’m so glad I already have tickets. It’s sold out. Oh my god, does your brother have tickets? He’s going to totally flip if he can’t be there. You’ve told him, right?”

“Uh…”

“Oh, Dean, come on… have you told him about meeting Cas, at least?”

“Nah. He, uh.” Dean bit his lip, took the plunge. “Doesn’t even know I’m bi.”

There was a pause.

“He… Dean… you never told me that.” Charlie’s voice was suddenly quieter, more serious.

“I didn’t want - you know, it’s dumb. It’s real dumb.”

“I thought he knew,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, well. Should’ve told him ages ago and now it just feels like a dumb thing that I’ve screwed up. He’s gonna think I’ve hidden it from him because I don’t trust him and it’s not that, it’s just… like… ugh, I don’t know.”

“Hey, hey. Preaching to the choir. Believe me, I get it. Like, you can trust someone to the ends of the earth, but there’s always that little voice saying  _ but hey, if you never tell them, the trust is never put to the test and you never have to find out either way and honestly, isn’t life just easier like this? _ ”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Well.. it’s your choice about if, and when, and how, and all that crap. And hey - I’m here for you, okay? If you need me.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Dean hoped he sounded as sincere as he felt. “Nerd.”

“Double-nerd.”

Dean felt a little leap of warmth for her in his chest; in the hurricane of the past couple of days, Charlie felt like a rock, some solid ground in amongst the chaos.

“Hey,” Dean said. “Actually, you wanna maybe meet up later? At The Refuge?”

“You wanting some singing practice?” Charlie said, and Dean could hear her grinning. “Yeah, after work I can come. Hey - want to invite Cas?”

The thought of seeing Cas that night - a whole several hours earlier than tomorrow, as they’d planned - hit Dean like a pleasant wave of hot static.

“Yeah,” Dean said, trying to sound casual. Charlie laughed.

“Okay, loverboy,” she said, and Dean groaned. “See ya later. I’ll text you a time. I’ve gotta get to work, I just remembered I promised I’d pick everyone up some donuts for breakfast. Are you at the garage today?”

“Sure am.”

“I might just swing by later.”

“Bring me a donut.”

“Your face is a donut. Gotta run!”

“Bye, bye, bye.” Dean hung up.

He breathed out.

Had that been weird? Maybe he shouldn’t have brought up the fact that he wasn’t out to Sam over a casual morning chat over the phone. Whatever. He tried to push the thought away - it was too late to worry about it now. And she’d sounded normal enough when she’d told him his face was a donut.

Okay. So, Charlie had seemed to be saying that Cas acting warmly towards him might be a good sign, given how rare that was. That felt good to hear. Even still, it wasn’t exactly an airtight confirmation that Cas did have feelings for him - but then, had Dean really thought that calling Charlie would actually give him any concrete answers? The only way he was going to get those was by asking Cas some actual questions.

Maybe tonight at The Refuge, he thought, he’d have the courage.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for following along with this fic as it posts. it's so wonderful to read your comments!! this week's been next-level busy for me and I think I'm developing an eye twitch maybe but this fic is a oasis in a desert filled with the sands of BUSY-NESS. yeah. permit me a wonky analogy in this time of turbulence. thank you again and hope you enjoyed!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update, an update, my kingdom for an update!! Here she is, lads and lasses and both and neither! The next one will go up in a week's time, on Friday same as always - the 17th of May. Wishing you a week that treats you gently, like a loving grandmother. And hope you enjoy this chapter!

Charlie pulled up outside The Refuge in the beaten-up old Toyota Corolla that Dean would have been horrified to be seen in, if he weren’t so used to it. Normally, he would have just driven home from work and then taken an Uber to get here - but Charlie had offered to stay sober and be the driver tonight, and Dean wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to save the taxi fare. 

Even if it meant riding in this crappy, dusty old car with the crumpled front spoiler and the broken electrics.

Cutting the engine, Charlie killed the radio that had been blasting out an old Black Eyed Peas song - loud was its only remaining setting - and creaked open the door.

“We have to get you a -”

“Better car. Yeah. On the to-do list, right under learning how to crochet.” It was the answer she always gave and Dean was never sure whether she was being sarcastic, or whether she really did have a lot of unrealised plans to pick up crocheting. He shrugged to himself, and got out of the car.

The night was a cold one, and Dean stuck his hands into his pockets as he cast a surreptitious glance around the parking lot.

“Are you trying to sneakily see whether Cas is here?” Charlie asked, slamming her door closed hard enough to make Dean wince.

“No?” he said, lying.

“Dude. Why are you being sneaky. I already know you’re into him.”

“Quiet down, would you?” Dean said, scanning left and right again, making sure that Cas wasn’t around to hear. Charlie snorted.

“Look, from what you told me,” she said as Dean walked around the car towards her, heading for the entrance to The Refuge, “I’m pretty sure he already knows too. Like, after you tracked him down at his audition and then took him on a date at the Christmas fair or whatever, I’m just saying, I don’t think it’ll be a  _ huge  _ surprise. The man’s not totally oblivious. Pretty oblivious, but not totally. He’s gotta have an inkling, bare minimum.” Charlie pulled out her phone and quickly checked her appearance in the reflection, close enough to The Refuge’s doorway for the single blueish outdoor light bulb to illuminate their faces. She groaned.

“What?”

“I’m just  _ too  _ good-looking sometimes,” she said.

Dean caught the undercurrent of sarcasm in her voice, the slight ripple of insecurity. She’d been a little off ever since her last break-up, Dean thought, questioning herself and how she looked in ways she had never done before. All her usual self-assurance had a cynical backbite since a few months back. Dean caught her eye, pretending to give her a critical once-over.

“Hmm. Yeah. Like I thought. You look awesome,” he said. “Gonna make all your exes jealous, attract every woman in a hundred yard radius, make flowers sing…”

“Okay, okay, little too thick there,” Charlie said, putting her phone away again, but she was grinning. “Alright, let’s do this.”

They pushed open the door and headed into the lobby, where a blonde woman in a dark suit was talking with Ash, who looked vaguely excited. The two of them looked up when Dean and Charlie walked in, and the woman smiled.

“Dean,” she said. “Didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Hey, Jo,” Dean said, and grinned at her. “You never know when you’re gonna be lucky, I guess.”

“You mean on the nights you don’t come in?”

“Ha _ ha. _ ”

Ash reached into a box sitting on a table to one side, plucked out a dark green feather boa, and draped it around Dean’s neck - he did it all almost automatically, most of his attention directed down at the phone in his hand.

“Charlie,” Jo said, in the meanwhile.

“Jo,” Charlie said.

When Dean was bedecked to Ash’s distracted satisfaction, Jo ushered the two of them through the door into the bar’s main room, which was already glittering with multicoloured lights and booming with the sound of Daft Punk; to one side, a dance floor’s worth of people were moving to the music, while others sat at tables or propped up the bar. Dean’s focus, though, was all on Charlie as the door to the lobby swung shut.

“Wanna explain?” he said.

Charlie was scanning the bar, acting as though she hadn’t heard him.

“Hmm?” Dean said. “Hello? You and Jo have been tight since forever, what was that?”

“What was what?” Charlie said innocently, squinting over at the bar.

“One-word greeting? Please.”

Charlie looked up at him, looking resigned.

“Ugh,” she said. “It’s a whole thing. She thinks that I was out with her ex last night, and I was, but it wasn’t like  _ that,  _ and anyway it shouldn’t matter ‘cause it’s her ex, and she broke up with Jo more than a year ago and they only dated three months, and it’s not my fault the lesbian dating pool is the size of a bug’s backyard -”

“Wait - Gilda? You went out with Gilda?”

“Nothing happened,” Charlie said, but Dean could see her looking flustered. “I wouldn’t do that to Jo. I didn’t even mean to meet her, we just turned up at the same Taco Bell by chance ‘cause we live so close to each other, it was bound to happen one day. We just hung out and talked.”

“But you like her?”

“I like lots of people,” Charlie said grandly, “and lots of people like me. Anyway, Jo saw us together in Gilda’s Insta story and now I’m in the shit for something I didn’t even really do, so. That’s great.”

“But, like -”

“Where’s Cas?” Charlie said, peering around the bar determinedly, and even though Dean could see the attempt at distraction from a mile off, he rolled with it. He got not wanting to talk about that kind of thing, especially if there was tension between her and Jo. When all your friends knew each other, talking about something like this was just a surefire way to make sure the gossip would spread and the drama would rocket.

“Uh,” Dean said, looking around the bar. Maybe Cas wasn’t here; Dean hadn’t been able to see any cars in the parking lot that looked extravagant enough to belong to a celebrity - but then he wouldn’t, he reminded himself. Cas didn’t live that kind of lifestyle, Donna had told him as much.

Even still, it looked as though there were no sign of -

Dean went still. There by the bar, in the same exact place where he’d sat on the night they’d first met. Cas, in his coat and with a feather boa round his neck, sitting with his back to where Dean was standing. 

Dean left Charlie’s side and headed over towards the bar, knowing she’d take one look at where he was headed and follow after him. Moving through the crowd as though it were barely there, the Daft Punk becoming wallpaper noise, Dean walked towards Cas; as though tugged by a thread between them, Cas’ shoulder twitched and he looked around, eyes puzzled, until he caught sight of Dean.

_ God,  _ Dean thought.  _ Fuck. _

To be looked at like he was the only person in the room, by the most handsome guy in the place. Dean smiled, just a little, and knowingly, as though he and Cas were both in on a joke. Cas smiled back, warmth in his eyes, looking just the same way. What exactly the joke was, Dean wasn’t sure. Maybe catching emotions was a joke on you, that you were somehow in on.

“Hey,” Dean said, sitting down on the stool right by Cas’.

“Hello,” Cas said.

“Do you come here often?” Dean couldn’t resist asking. Cas’ smirk returned.

“Every now and then,” he said. “Last time I was here, I met someone who told me to make a habit out of it.”

“He sounds like a swell guy.”

“He is,” Cas said, and the simplicity of it, the lack of guile, somehow wrongfooted Dean in his pretence. He blinked, and then smiled.

“S’good to see you,” he said, trading sincerity for sincerity.

“You too.”

“Me three,” said a voice, and Dean turned on his stool, expecting to see Charlie - but instead, he found himself facing the small, dark-haired, heavyweight-eyebrowed figure of Jody.

Dean swallowed. Jody’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes,” Cas said, somewhat awkwardly. “I, um - well, we thought it was better for safety if Jody and Hannah were here.”

“Hannah’s here?” Dean said, lighting up, peering over Jody’s head - Cas smiled and nodded, turning away to look for them - but Jody tilted her chin up, demanding that Dean maintain eye contact with her. 

“Listen up,” she said, and she wasn’t shouting but she was still somehow devastatingly audible through the music and the general hubbub around the bar. In his periphery, Dean could make out that Cas had seen Hannah and was waving them over. “About yesterday. I know this is all pretty new to you. I know you probably don’t mean any harm. But safety isn’t a game for some of us. I take that seriously.” Jody raised the eyebrow for the killer blow. “And if you care about Cas, you will too.”

Dean found himself looking down at his shoes, and nodding.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m - uh - sorry if you were worried.”

“A text next time,” Jody said. “At the minimum. We need to know where he is.”

“Got it.”

“Better not to run off at all, though that seems unlikely.”

“Yeah. I mean, no - I mean, uh -” Dean swallowed. “I mean, I’ll be more careful.”

Jody’s wintry expression melted just a touch, and she put her head on one side.

“Good. I also have some papers for you to sign -”

“CAS!”

They were interrupted by a high-pitched yell of joy from a few yards away; Charlie had finally managed to make her way through the crowd and had spotted Cas, and she was running over to him with her hands out. Cas, beaming, stood up from his stool and went to greet her, slapping her hands with his in a low ten. Over the music, Dean could make out Charlie saying how long it had been, and Cas agreeing; it was weird, in such a good way, to see the two of them together - to see someone he knew so well, someone he trusted so much, greeting Cas as an old friend.

The idea of him and Cas being a Thing, with a capital T, felt less out of reach when they already had friends in common. Maybe - definitely - that was part of why Dean couldn’t stop smiling.

Hannah reached the group of them at last, clutching a mojito in their hands and looking a little out of place in the loud and sparkling bar room, their curly dark hair falling into their face. Seeing Cas was busy talking to Charlie, they moved through to stand by Dean and Jody.

“Hey!” Dean greeted them, maybe a little more warmly than they were expecting, because they looked taken aback - but pleased, nevertheless.

“Hi!” they said. “I’m Hannah.”

“Right, yeah - we met at the audition? I’m Dean.”

“Oh, I know,” Hannah said. “People just don’t normally remember my name, so…”

“You were giving me a way out with dignity,” Dean said, grinning. “Much appreciated, but I’m afraid you’re stuck up here, now.” He tapped his forehead. Hannah smiled a little nervously, and Dean wasn’t sure if they were uncomfortable with what he’d said, with the environment, or if they just hadn’t heard him. Either way, he decided to move past it. Jody was a silent presence beside him, constantly scanning the crowd.

“That a mojito you’re drinking?” he said.

“Hmm? Oh - yeah! Cas got one for me once the only other time we went out to a club together. It’s the only thing I know how to order.”

“What?!” Dean grinned at them, and shook his head.

“What?” Hannah asked back, wide-eyed.

“OK,” he said. “If mojito’s your poison then that’s great, but you gotta try some other things.” They didn’t, really, Dean thought to himself, but he was making conversation, trying to put them at their ease and be fun for them while Cas and Charlie were busy catching up, and somehow that was translating into acting slightly all-knowing to make up for how much Hannah looked like a fish out of water. “Can’t just stick with one thing, it’s too boring, you know?”

“You think so?” Hannah said, looking worried.

“Well. Not really, to be honest,” Dean said, sensing Jody’s attention zeroing in on him and hoping that was the right answer by her as well as by him. “Only if you want to. But hey, I can order you whatever you wanna try, if you do wanna try some other stuff.”

“Oh - cool!” Hannah was looking suddenly pleased, and Dean relaxed. “Well - I mean, I did always want to try whisky…”

“There’s a girl after my own heart,” Dean said, without thinking.

“Not a girl,” Hannah replied, calmly, though without looking at him. “Um, so, yeah, what kind of whisky should I get?”

_ Fuck. _

“Right. Not a girl,” Dean said. Hannah looked at him. “Sorry. My bad.”

“It’s OK. It’s hard to get used to.”

“Still.” 

“It’s OK, really. The whisky…?”

Dean struggled.

“Right. Whisky. I think the best one they’ve got here for you to try is probably…”

Dean called over the bartender and ordered two whiskies, most of his mind on what had just happened and cringing over it and wishing he could roll back time, and part of his mind on Charlie and Cas still standing just slightly away from the rest of their little group, talking excitedly and waving their hands and looking ecstatic to see each other. The night had barely begun and it was already walking that odd split between joyous and crushingly embarrassing that most good nights out always trod.

The whiskies were pushed across the bar to Dean, and he picked up one and gave it to Hannah, who eyed it dubiously.

“Looks like pee,” Dean said helpfully. Hannah blinked at him, and then looked back at the dark amber liquid, and then back to Dean.

“Do you need to see a doctor?” they said.

“Depends how many of these we’re drinking tonight,” Dean said, and picked up his own, and clinked it against Hannah’s. “Na zdrowie. Down the hatch.”

They both drank, Dean throwing it back quickly, with familiarity and a certainty that it wouldn’t be his last of the night - no need to savour it. Hannah, meanwhile, sipped at theirs and then made a screwed-up, disgusted face.

“Acquired taste?” Dean asked them, with a smile.

Hannah swallowed. They took another sip, and then threw the rest back in one go, as Dean had done.

“It’s OK,” they said. “It’s hard to get used to.”

Dean’s glance jerked up to meet theirs, and Hannah grinned at him, looking more at ease than they had done when they’d first come over, seeming to unbend in Dean’s company even though he’d put his foot all the way into his mouth. They leaned over and tapped on Jody’s arm.

“I checked outside,” they said. “All quiet.”

“You didn’t tell anyone we were coming, then,” Jody said to Dean, who frowned.

“Who would I tell?”

“Oh, I can think of one or two people who would pay to know, and I’m sure you could think of them too. You really need to sign the papers, I have them here, everyone else signed yesterday when they were coming in but Hannah didn’t have time to print off your contract before you arrived and then you ran off before the end…”

Dean was looking down at the floor again. Jody’s way of making him feel like a schoolboy was unrivalled, he thought. She should be a police officer or a headteacher - she was wasted as a manager.

“Right. Yeah, I’ll sign -” he said, but he was interrupted by Cas and Charlie finally rejoining the group, both of them looking flush-cheeked and happy. Cas looked at Dean, and Dean looked at Cas, and they smiled at each other.

“All good?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, answering the question as though it had been put to her - because it normally was, Dean thought, on nights like this. He looked across at her and nodded, not wanting her to notice that he hadn’t been speaking to her and feel embarrassed. “Let’s get a table, shall we? Can’t have three of us acting like hat-stands for the other two the whole night. Where’s Ash…”

She drifted off into the crowd; Cas came closer to Dean.

“Hey,” Dean said.

“Do you come here often?” Cas asked. It was Dean’s turn to smirk, now. Hannah and Jody angled themselves tactfully away, and started to talk quietly to each other.

“Well, not twice in the same week, normally,” Dean said. “But you see, I met this guy last time I was in here, and I’m hoping he might come back so I can find him again.”

“Oh? What did you want to tell him?”

Dean licked his lips, tasting the burn of whisky, his heart beating suddenly hard and fast in his chest.

“Well,” he said, and didn’t get any further than that; Charlie popped back up looking triumphant, and grabbed Dean’s hand to lead him over towards a newly-vacated table that Ash had managed to snag for them. Dean looked back at Cas, beckoning him to follow as he was tugged away through the crowd, laughing a bit at Charlie’s determination.

“Nice,” Charlie said, as she collapsed into a seat and hooked one leg over the side of it, swinging her booted foot as though she’d already been there for idle hours. The music wasn’t so loud, here; the table was ever so slightly set back in a nook, a hideaway from the thud of drum and bass. Hannah sat down beside Charlie, setting their half-finished mojito down on the table in front of them; Jody took the chair beside them, leaving a spot beside Dean for Cas.

Cas dropped into the seat, and raised his eyebrows at Dean.

“Hello,” he said.

“Do you come here often?”

Cas ducked his head to laugh, this time. Dean watched him and wanted to talk to him - really talk to him, just him, alone like they had been the first time they’d met or at the market. He loved Charlie and he wanted to get to know Jody and Hannah better, but right now, all he wanted was to spend a thousand years in Cas’ company and then maybe get snacks, and then do a thousand more.

In Cas’ eyes, Dean thought he could read the same thing; a wish that they could be alone, tinged with an acceptance that they were in company tonight and that wasn’t going to change - and besides, it was good company. Dean cleared his throat and turned back towards the rest of the group, realising that they’d already been chatting between them while he’d been obliviously staring at Cas.

“- just tech stuff, mostly,” Charlie was saying. “You know, I fix things when they break, I make it do the thing when it won’t do the thing. Lotta freelance work but also some regular stuff.”

“That sounds interesting,” Hannah said. “I always wanted to learn how to code.”

“Learning sucks,” Charlie said, “but once you’ve learned, you can do so much cool shit.”

“I want to build an app,” Hannah said, their eyes aglow with the possibility.

“Hell yeah,” said Charlie, comfortably supportive. “I coded an app just last week.”

“What’d your app be?” Dean asked, noticing what Charlie hadn’t - the way that Hannah was clearly dying to talk about their idea, their whole face lit up at the mention of it.

“It’d be a game,” Hannah said. “And it’d be, like, your character would be in the music industry and they’d have to start working for a singer who’s a total diva…”

“Not drawing on experience, I hope,” Cas said dryly, and everyone laughed while Hannah reddened.

“No, no,” they said. “I’m just really into time management games. Actually, maybe a singer like you should be level one, because you’re so easy to work for.”

The laughs were replaced with general  _ aww _ ’ing, which seemed to dig Hannah out of their brief stint in the pit of embarrassment where Dean had been making himself comfortable just a few minutes before.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and those of you who are having none of it,” came a voice from across the bar, softened into light static at the edges by a microphone; it was Ash, and the group turned to look at him, Hannah smiling especially brightly at Ash’s greeting. “Time for some singing.”

The crowd reacted with cheers and hollers. Charlie reached her foot over and poked Dean’s leg, but he shook his head.

“What?” Charlie said, sitting up. “C’mon, you gotta sing tonight. You always sing.”

“I don’t - it’s - nah,” Dean managed weakly, unable to explain the sudden lurch of panic in his stomach at the idea of singing. Somehow, singing equalled concert equalled wanting to throw up, an equation that was as unwelcome as it was unexpected - but Dean wasn’t going to be able to sing through it. No way.

“Dude,” Charlie said, but Dean waved her off.

“Tonight, as many of you know, is our roulette night,” Ash said into the mic, to scattered applause. “Hell yeah. I spin the wheel, I walk through the room. Wheel picks the genre, I pick the singer. Simple as that. Let’s get started!”

Ash grabbed the pointer of a fittingly glittery wheel that was held up at the side of the stage on an easel, making a big show of putting some effort into the spin and then walking away as it circled round and round. He headed into the crowd as the wheel went  _ Pop Metal Folk Rock Country Ballad - _

Dean watched Ash move through the tables, and narrowed his eyes. He’d spent enough nights here at The Refuge to know when Ash had a victim in mind - he knew that purposeful walk, and it was headed closer and closer. Surely Ash wouldn’t force him to sing tonight, not again, when he’d done it already just a few nights before. Turning to glance around the table, he saw he wasn’t the only one with an intuitive sense of where this was going; Jody was stone-faced, and Hannah looked an unusual shade of green that had nothing to do with the spinning multicoloured lights. Cas, next to Dean, had a relaxed expression, but Dean could see his hands clenched under the table. Charlie, though, was sipping her drink and paying no attention.

“I might get another coke,” she said, right as Ash reached their table with the eyes of the room on him, some people clapping and laughing in anticipation as the wheel slowed and Ash homed in on his target.

“Well, now, what do we have here,” Ash said into the mic, and people laughed. It wasn’t even funny, Dean thought, giving Ash a murder-glare while also trying to smile for the crowd.

_ Not me. Not me. Not me.  _ Dean looked around the table, and grudgingly added to himself,  _ better me than Hannah though. I think they’ll pass out if he picks them. _

Ash’s pointing finger circled the group as, on the stage, the wheel’s pointer slowed, and slowed, and slowed…

And the pointer came to a stop, on  _ Pop. _

And the pointing finger came to a stop. 

On Cas.

Dean turned to Cas as the room filled up with general supportive cheers and applause, the lights spinning wildly. Cas looked at Ash, his mouth slightly open, looking as though he’d just been gently slapped in the face, and wasn’t hurt, but now had no idea what to do.

Could he sing? Would Jody even let him? Wasn’t it dangerous, in case someone recognised his voice? Dean was about to say something, about to speak up and give Cas an out, tug Ash’s fateful pointing finger over to himself and demand to sing instead -

“Well, well, well,” Ash said into the mic, before Dean could get himself together. Ash was looking right at Cas, his eyebrows raised. “You and pop. So, what’s it going to be, Castiel?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience with these slightly shorter chapters - life at the moment seems to be a rotation of work and commitments and hospital visits for my family, which is not a carousel I particularly recommend. All well and nothing drastically serious at the moment - taps wood - but Not conducive to writing chapters as long as I'd like! I have a lot already written after this scene, which I decided to drop in here 'cause there's a particular song that I really want one of the characters to sing, which we'll see next chapter - oooooooooooooooooooooo the suspense. Anyway, ramble complete. Thank you for reading, a hug/high five/hawk scream of victory to you, and see you next week!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come one, come all!! Time for chapter seven!! :D The next one will go up next Friday, the 24th of May. I'm so excited to be sharing this story and I'm loving doing weekly updates, I'm so glad y'all are following along. See you next week!! <33

There was a beat of horrified silence. Jody stood up abruptly, her chair falling to the floor behind her with a clatter; Hannah muttered a vicious curse; Cas blanched and looked at Dean as though his worst fears were coming true, and Dean could only gape back at him -

“Beyoncé?” Ash asked, in the same tone of voice, raising his eyebrows. Cas’ eyes snapped away, up to Ash’s face.

Jody, who had been halfway around the table with one hand reaching into her pocket for her phone, froze.

“John Legend? One Direction? Oh my god, let it be One Direction, I am _feeling_ them tonight. Come on, dude, choice is yours!”

Dean got what had happened just a second after Jody, who turned away with one hand covering her eyes. Cas seemed to unravel, fold in on himself; he put his head into his arms on the table, hiding his face, while Hannah reached out a hand to put on his shoulder. The crowd were muttering, now, and Ash stepped on Dean’s foot heavily as though asking him to do something.

Dean couldn’t move. His heart was going a mile a goddamn minute, he’d thought for a second that he’d somehow accidentally let slip to someone who Cas really was, and he didn’t have enough brainspace to solve Ash’s karaoke problem. He also put a tentative hand on Cas’ shoulder, and squeezed gently. Cas didn’t move.

“You know what?” said a loud, bright voice from Dean’s other side. He heard a slight scuffle on the mic, and then the same voice again, only amplified through the speakers: Charlie, sounding bubbly and determined. “Ash, I know I don’t normally do this, but tonight’s a very special night. For me, for you, and for everyone here. I’ve been practising my Tegan and Sara - and no, that’s not a metaphor for anything, get your mind out of the gutter - and it’s time to treat all you bitches _right_ tonight _._ ”

The crowd were getting into it, watching Charlie as she made her way to the stage, all the attention leaving Cas. Dean thanked her profusely in the quiet corner of his mind that wasn’t totally focused on Cas’ silent, unmoving figure slumped on the table in front of him. Hannah met Dean’s eyes over the top of Cas’ head, and shrugged with deep worry in their eyes. Dean swallowed.

“Hey,” he muttered, leaning a little closer to Cas. He smelled like soap, and a little bit like sweat. “Hey, no one’s looking. You’re OK. Nothing happened. Just Ash listing off your options and of course, it was goddamn Castiel first...”

No response from Cas.

“I’m gonna need a little bit of help for this one, though,” Charlie was saying on the stage. “And I happen to know someone here tonight also knows this song particularly well because we scream-shouted it across her apartment last year after her girlfriend broke up with her. Jo?”

Dean registered in some part of his mind what Charlie was doing, but couldn’t turn and look. He glanced up at Jody, who had turned back to face them and was standing with one hand still on her phone, looking - for the first time since Dean had met her - a little out of her depth.

“I’m getting more drinks,” she said roughly, and Dean nodded. Hannah looked down at Cas, and then up at Dean, and said,

“Maybe I’ll get some… tissues.”

They got up and left. Dean’s hand tightened on Cas’ shoulder, and Cas said something into his arms.

“Huh?” Dean said, leaning closer still, but Cas lifted his head a little and made the extra effort to hear unnecessary. He looked flushed, and his eyes were downcast.

“I said, that was embarrassing.”

Dean snorted. He gave Cas another squeeze on the shoulder, and then let go, and then punched him lightly.

“Hey, it wasn’t so bad. I think Charlie saved it.”

Cas glanced over towards the stage, where Charlie was coaxing Jo up to stand beside her with the help of the crowd, who were cheering and clapping for them both.

“She does that,” he said.

“You’re telling me,” Dean replied.

Cas was silent for a long second, and then slowly sat back in his chair, looking at Dean.

“You alright?” Dean asked. Cas nodded, seeming to be regaining some equilibrium.

“You know, for a second there, I thought you’d…”

Dean swallowed.

“For a second there, honestly,” he said gruffly, “so did I. Thought I must’ve done it by mistake, said your full name to him or… something. Jesus. Another scare like that and I won’t live to see my next birthday. Are you, uh. I’m sorry that you…”

“It’s not your fault,” Cas said, shaking his head. “I just... _really_ didn’t want you to have done that.”

Dean held his hands out awkwardly.

“Ta-da, I didn’t,” he said, lamely. Cas smiled, though, as if it had actually been even slightly funny, and Dean felt his shoulders relax. Music started playing, the dreamy tones of a Tegan and Sara song that Dean knew from Charlie’s playlist in her car, and he turned to look at the stage, where Jo was standing beside Charlie and looking vaguely murderous.

“She doesn’t look like she’s having the best night, either,” Cas remarked.

“It’s a thing. Charlie sorta went on an accidental date with her ex.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, it’s… not as bad as I just made it sound. Probably. I dunno.”

“Drinks,” Jody said, reappearing and setting five bottles of beer down on the table. Hannah dropped into their seat a moment later, with a big pile of paper towels.

“I don’t know why I got these,” they said, looking flustered.

“Thank you,” Cas said, smiling at them, and they seemed to relax a touch.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” they said, quietly, just for Cas to hear. Dean looked down at the table.

“It wasn’t even a big deal,” he heard Cas say. “Pretty sure I just made a fool of myself over nothing.”

“Well,” Hannah said, “I panicked and stole paper towels from a janitor’s cart, so. Who’s the real fool, here.”

“You stole them?”

Dean looked back up to see Hannah, half-mortified and half-laughing, nodding at Cas. Dean realised for the first time, watching them, how close the two of them were - the warmth between them, the sparkle in Hannah’s eyes when they looked at Cas. He wondered, suddenly, whether Hannah had feelings for Cas, or whether it was all platonic closeness for them both.

His thought process was interrupted by Charlie and Jo up on stage, who had hit the chorus of their Tegan and Sara song and were giving it everything they had - even Jo’s frown had gone, and she was getting into it, her long blonde hair swinging as she moved to the music.

“ _How come you don’t want me now?”_ she sang.  
“ _Why don’t you wanna wait this out?”_

Charlie, across the stage, sang back to her,

“ _How come you always lead me on,_ _  
_ _Never take my call, hear me out?”_

Together, half-shouting into each other’s faces in a way that barely scraped tuneful, they sang,

“ _Why don’t you wanna win me now?_ _  
_ _Why don’t you wanna show me off?_ _  
_ _Tell me why you couldn’t try,_  
_Couldn’t try and keep me here?”_

“They look like they’re really feeling that,” Hannah said.

“There’s a thing,” Cas replied, before Dean could turn around and explain. “Charlie’s sort-of dating Jo’s ex.”

“Oh, _no,_ ” Hannah said.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, apparently.”

“It was an accidental date. And Gilda broke up with Jo over a year ago,” Dean said over his shoulder. “And it was because Jo wasn’t paying her any attention, totally wrapped up in making this place a success. They only dated a few months but somehow Jo was real cut up over it.”

“Aw. How come, d’you think?” Hannah said, watching the stage.

“I think it just felt like a missed opportunity or something, like, she was left with all these feelings that she should have acted on when she had the chance.”

Dean very definitely did not look at Cas as he said the last part, but just voicing those words in Cas’ presence felt like setting down drawing pins in front of a magnet - they were pulled his way, became about him. Dean cleared his throat, and shrugged.

“Gilda’s nice, anyway,” he said. “I think. From what I remember.”

“Uh-huh. Well, then. You know, I didn’t realise this place was so new,” Hannah said, looking around the bar. “Just over a year old, you said?”

“Oh - nah, it’s been around longer than that, but it used to be way smaller and way crappier. Just a dirty old place but we loved it ‘cause it was ours. Then Jo took over and it’s been up and up ever since.”

On the stage, Jo and Charlie were getting into it again, verse spinning into raucous chorus. The night was easing back into a good time, slowly, as the memory of that sharp-spiked panicked moment faded; Dean looked over at Cas, who smiled at him and said,

“So, you’ve been coming here a while?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Dean glanced around at the glittering crowd, the feather boas, the tacky disco balls on the ceiling. “It’s kinda home from home, really. Maybe just home, plain and simple, I dunno.”

“Really?” Cas said.

Dean could feel Hannah’s eyes on him as they listened to the conversation, and he felt his throat close up. He shrugged, and nodded.

“Yeah, totally.”

He turned back to the stage, trying to invest himself in the performance that was slowly coming to a close, Charlie and Jo standing at opposite ends of the stage and humming out the last few notes - but an insistent little voice was in his head, saying,

_What was that?_

He’d been just about to answer Cas, about to take his invitation to talk more about The Refuge and what it meant to him, and then he’d realised that Hannah was listening, and he’d closed up quicker than a barn door slammed in a hurricane. He probed himself. Why was the feeling familiar, of having more to say - stuff about what he thought, how he felt - and then just not saying it? Was this what Charlie was talking about, how he never talked about his feelings? He hadn’t even noticed, not really, not when he kind of did it with everyone so it was just the wallpaper, nothing special. But then doing it in front of Cas…

If it had been only Cas sitting with him, Dean realised, he would have carried on talking. He would have said how it had felt to come here the first time, how painfully excited and terrified he’d been. How much he’d wanted to fit in and how much he’d felt like he stood out, and how much he’d been accepted for doing both. How he’d met Charlie here. How he’d met _lots_ of people here, how he’d made memories and mistakes and friends and best friends. How this was the beating heart of his life, the thrumming living part of it, the place he could be real and _feel_ real -

He’d have said all of it to Cas. Because he just would’ve, he didn’t know why. But with anyone else there, it felt like he couldn’t.

Dean shook his head. He barely even _knew_ the guy.

He joined in the applause for Charlie and Jo, who each bowed and left the stage, Charlie with a lot more flourishes and performance than Jo, who hopped down athletically from the front without bothering to use the steps.

Still, Dean thought, at least this meant he _could_ still open up. Even if Cas turned out to be a douche or ended up running away on his tour and never coming back, at least it was possible. If it could happen once, it could happen again. Maybe if Dean put in some effort, it could even happen more with the people he already knew, people who had apparently already noticed that he didn’t like doing Feelings, with a capital F.

“Hey,” said one of the people in question, dropping back down into her seat, her hair clinging a little to her forehead with sweat. “God, it’s hot up there under the lights. Oh, is this for me?” Charlie reached out and grabbed one of the bottles on the table and Dean realised that one of the beers was actually just a lemonade in dark green glass. She glugged it, swallowed loudly, and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Good shit,” she said.

“You were amazing,” Hannah said generously. Dean met the eyes of Jody across the table, who raised an eyebrow at him, and sipped her beer. Dean looked down at the table to hide his smile.

“Thank you,” Cas said, leaning across the table so that Charlie could hear him. “For covering for me.”

“Gotcha back,” Charlie said.

“I got yours,” Cas replied, and it sounded like a kind of ritual between them, the way that he said it; it made Charlie smile, and she reached out to clink her bottle against one of the beers on the table, encouraging Cas to take one.

“Dean, maybe we could look at those papers, now,” Jody said, sitting forwards. At the front of the bar, Ash was spinning the wheel again, choosing another victim and another genre. Dean stuck on a smile and nodded gamely, not wanting to be on the receiving end of any more of Jody’s disapproval.

“Sure,” he said, and Jody reached into the inside pocket of her jacket, pulling out papers that had been folded up to fit. Dean took them from her, along with the pen that she proffered a few moments later. “Uh… do I have to read these, or can I just sign?”

“Ohhhh, pop again!” Dean heard Ash say. He tried to focus. At least he could be pretty sure that their table would be safe; Ash didn’t usually call on the same group twice in a night.

“It’s up to you,” Jody said. “You can take it away and get it read by a lawyer if you want. The first one is an NDA, so you can’t reveal Cas’ identity in public without us sueing the ever-loving crap out of you.” Jody smiled charmingly. “And the second one is just waiving your right to the footage we took at the audition, giving us permission to upload it, that sorta thing.”

“Sounds good,” Dean said, and clicked the pen, and scribbled his name on the first dotted line he saw. He could tell Charlie was eyeing him, could feel her wariness, but he couldn’t be assed to read all the way through the damn documents when he probably wouldn’t understand half the crap they said anyway. Cas was a good guy, Dean knew that much from his charity work and his lifestyle and the way everyone around him vouched for him - and besides, it wasn’t as though Dean had a ton of money for them to steal. He flipped a page, and signed again.

“So, you can talk to people who already know about Cas’ identity,” Jody said, whipping the papers away once they’d been signed. “But you can’t tell anyone who doesn’t already know. And if you try to make money from the information in any way, if you tip anyone off regarding Cas’ whereabouts…”

“You’ll use razor wire in places I’d never have imagined?” Dean hazarded, only half-joking.

“Got it in one,” Jody said, looking like she wasn’t joking at all.

“Anyway,” Cas said bracingly - and then the next song came on, and his face went oddly still. Dean frowned, turning towards the stage; a young man was standing there, looking pale and shiny and excited, grasping the mic, and swaying to the first notes of a Castiel song.

“Oh, damn,” Dean said, because he didn’t know what else to say. When he turned around, he realised that Cas was getting to his feet. “Uh -”

“Bathroom,” Cas said tersely, and left.

They all sat and watched him go, threading his way through the crowd. Charlie slurped her lemonade.

“He hates this one,” Hannah said, looking as though they wanted to give some kind of explanation for his behaviour. Jody looked annoyed at Hannah for saying it, but Dean leaned closer.

“He does?”

“Yeah. I mean, he hates most of the stuff he’s released since _Rush of Falling_.”

“Uhhh…”

“His third album, right?” Charlie said, joining the conversation.

“Exactly. At that point, the execs pretty much took over. Cas got a say in some things, but mostly… I mean, he gets to write some of the lyrics, like just a few songs on each album and definitely not this one. And all the production, that’s out of his hands. Apparently there are algorithms and they can predict what people will respond to and that’s what they make.”

“I didn’t know,” Dean said.

“This is covered in the NDA,” Jody interjected. “You can’t share how much of his music is written by him.” Dean repressed the urge to wave her off, instead choosing to nod seriously.

“I didn’t know either. I mean, I thought his stuff got kinda… tepid…” Charlie drank some more lemonade. “But, like, holy shit. I thought he was just going soft in his old age, not having it taken out of his hands like that.”

Dean was quietly stewing, thinking back to what he’d told Cas the first night they’d met - all the things that he’d said about Castiel’s music. Not only had Dean been insulting the guy who had in fact been sitting right next to him; in fact, he’d been insulting him over something that he’d been forced into doing in the first place. He felt cold all over.

“That’s bullshit,” he said aloud. “Can’t he… I dunno… get a new label or something?”

“He’s been saying he should,” Hannah said. “But his current label are great about hiding his identity and he worries that transferring all his details to another company would get it leaked.”

“He’s right to worry,” Jody said. “It would get leaked. There’s no way it wouldn’t.”

“But if he’s unhappy…” Dean said.

“It’d be worse for him, being tailed everywhere and having to live like a real celebrity,” Jody said. “It’s so restrictive, he’d go out of his mind.” Dean thought about it - thought about what Cas had said to him in the back room of the Ground Floor theatre about being lonely, wanting to come to The Refuge for one night of being normal, trying to leave the interviews and the persona of Castiel behind just for a night.

“He already kinda does live restricted, though, right?” he said. There was a slightly awkward pause, and he held up his hands and said, “I don’t know shit. I’m just calling it as I see it.”

“It’s to keep him safe,” Jody said.

“I know. I get that, it’s just…” Dean trailed off. “I know.”

The awkward silence lengthened; Dean glanced over at Charlie, who wiggled her eyebrows at him in the way that she always did in tense situations. Dean widened his eyes slightly back at her, and then looked over at the stage.

“ _I’ll bring you love_ _  
_ _in the month of May,_ _  
_ _I’ll bring you love_ _  
_ _that’s here to stay,_ _  
_ _if you’ll only be,_ _  
_ _be my bayyyy-bay,”_ the pale boy sang, still looking terrified - almost certainly his first time singing here - but cheered on by a supportive crowd who loved Castiel, their queer pop icon. Dean suffered through the schmaltzy lyrics, wondering how Cas could sing them if he hadn’t even written them. When Anna had called Dean out at the auditions for hating on the sentimental songs, Dean had taken that and had thought that she was right - he had been ignoring the value of a happy song, something sweet and uncomplicated. But now that he knew Cas didn’t even really want to sing those lyrics, the situation had changed again. It wasn’t that the songs shouldn’t exist, but Cas shouldn’t have to sing them if he didn’t want to.

Finally, the song ended. The pale boy slipped off the stage with a huge grin on his face, to wild applause; meanwhile, Cas fell back into his seat, and smiled at Dean, who smiled back.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked.

“Me,” Dean said, and winked.

“How did you know?”

“I have a natural sense for these things.”

“What a talent.” Somehow, the words coming out of Cas’ mouth were just the right level of dry - not too biting with the irony. Dean wondered whether it’d be too much to ask if Cas wanted to go outside to talk for a while. Maybe he could just ask if he wanted to go get a drink together, to start off with.

He glanced over at Charlie as Cas took a drink, while the sounds of Ash choosing a new karaoke genre boomed behind them. Charlie gave him a big overemphasised wink and a thumbs-up, which he waved off, embarrassed; across the table, Jody was watching everything with those sharp eyes of hers, and Hannah was looking a little pink and pleased. They met his eye, too, and raised their eyebrows.

They probably didn’t have feelings for Cas, then, Dean thought. Not if they were this supportive of Dean’s apparently very public attempt at flirting, which he’d somehow in the moment thought would be going unnoticed by everyone but Cas.

“Country!” Ash called, and Charlie groaned.

“I’m out,” she said.

“You hate country, too?” Hannah said, their eyes lighting up.

“Oh my god, so much.”

“Is it the money-grabbing fakers or the racism or the homophobia? Or is it -”

“All three,” they both said at the same time.

“And more,” Charlie added. Cas was frowning.

“I like some country songs,” he said.

“A broken clock is right twice a day,” Charlie said, which Hannah seemed to find very funny. Dean met Cas’ eyes and shrugged slightly; Cas took another good-natured sip of his drink. There was the sound of applause as Ash moved into the crowd to choose another victim. Dean opened his mouth, about to suggest that he and Cas could go up to the bar, or go get some air, or something - but those claps and cheers were coming closer, and Dean turned to see Ash heading straight for them all over again, his eyes fixed on Cas.

With a sinking in his stomach, Dean realised that Ash wasn’t going to let this one go. He was coming back to try to persuade Cas to go up and sing, not realising that the problem had nothing to do with being shy or closeted or shut-up, and a lot more to do with trying not to be recognised as an international pop star. Dean waved a flat hand across his throat, signalling Ash furiously to stop, but Ash was like a single snow plough heading for a mountain glacier with total determination. There was nothing to do. No way to stop him. Nothing except -

As Ash went to move past him to grab Cas all over again, Dean seized hold of Ash’s hand and dragged it up onto his own shoulder.

“What, me?” he said immediately, and loudly. “No, Ash - I already sang when I was in here last time - ah, man, if you insist.” He stood up, and wrapped his arm around Ash, leading him away from the table before he could try to push for a duet.

“Nice one, Dean,” Ash muttered.

“You’re a demon with that thing. It’s a problem.”

“I’m just doin’ my job!”

“Demon,” Dean repeated. He was going to have to talk to Jo about it. It was one thing to try to get reluctant customers to come out of their shells, and it was something else to not be able to take a goddamn hint when it was being clearly given to you.

“What’re you singing?” Ash said, stopping in at his DJ booth.

“What’s the genre again? Ah, crap, right. Country. Uh, gimme… you got Steve Earle?”

“Dean, we’re in Texas. If it’s country, I got it.”

“ _Someday._ That’s the name of the song.” Dean took to the stage, feeling an odd sense of familiarity mixed with total dissociation; this was the place where he sang, where he always sang, and this was also something completely new - singing so that someone else didn’t have to. Singing because there was someone out there in the crowd who he cared about in a way that felt different. Singing with barely any drink in his system, relatively speaking. Singing country, for crying out loud.

The first guitar strains played and the crowd clapped politely. The song was an old one and Dean didn’t expect it to get a lot of response, but hearing the familiar slow riff calmed his heartbeat, settled him on the stage.

 _Cas,_ said the voice in his head.

Dean looked for Cas, and found him. He was watching Dean, smiling so slightly that it seemed as though he wasn’t even aware of it - as though just seeing Dean was making him happy.

 _Cas,_ said the voice in his head again, with even more certainty.

How it felt to be looked at like that… Dean didn’t have words for it. He swallowed, and concentrated on the song. If he didn’t sing this well, maybe Jody’d just cut him right out of the concert, anyway.

 _"There ain’t a lot that you can do in this town,”_ he sang. He let the memories that always rose up like a wave when he sang this song flow over him, rushing through him: memories of small-town life, of being a kid living in the back end of nowhere.

 _“You drive down to the lake and then you turn back around.”_ They’d had a lake in the town where he’d grown up, and he and Sam had spent ages swimming there in the summer, their mom and dad watching from the bank in their broken-down chairs.

 _“You go to school and you learn to read and write,_ _  
_ _so you can walk into the county bank and sign away your life.”_ Dean had watched his parents worry and ache over money year in, year out as he grew, some new final demand always dropping into their mailbox. The drums in the song kicked in, the beat really taking off, and Dean started to move to it. He hadn’t heard this one in a long time, even though he often found himself singing it around the garage, and he’d listened to it enough times as a teenager stuck in a backwater town that he’d never forget the lyrics.

 _“Now, I work at the filling station on the interstate,"_ Dean sang. He looked out at Cas, who was still watching Dean; beside him, Hannah was also staring over at him and looking impressed, while Charlie was nowhere to be seen and Jody was on her phone.

 _“Pumping gasoline and counting out state plates.”_ Dean really had had a job at a filling station, back when he was probably too young to have been doing it, but no one had been checking up on him or the owner and it’d made some extra bucks.

 _“They ask me, ‘how far into Memphis, son,_ _  
_ _and where’s the nearest beer?’_ _  
_ _And they don’t even know_  
_if there’s a town around here…”_ It hadn’t been Memphis, of course, but that feeling of where he lived being so irrelevant to everyone passing through under the burning summer sun, the feeling of being small and stuck when everyone else was on their way to bigger and better things, that was something Dean remembered with a sharpness that almost still hurt. He moved into the chorus, and realised suddenly that he was doing it - he was doing what Charlie had said he should do, what he’d already told her he couldn’t do tonight, what he’d panicked about doing from the moment she’d suggested it; a pit opened up in his stomach as he suddenly felt the reality of it all sink into him, but there was no time, here came that chorus -

“ _Someday, I’m finally gonna let go,_ _  
_ _‘cause I know there’s a better way._ _  
_ _And I wonder what’s over that rainbow_  
_I’m gonna get out of here, someday.”_

So many years later, living in Austin now in his own place with a job and a life of his own, and those words still hit him just as hard as they had when he’d first heard them as a queer teenager doing his best to get by and not be outed in a tiny, conservative town. The rush in his blood when he’d heard the song and realised for the first time that there really could be a life for him outside the town - a life where he wouldn’t have to always hide and be afraid - he could still feel it. He let the music fill him up, push away the sensation of panic, the over-thinking and the worry. Like he’d always used to, back at home when he’d be sitting in his car at the lookout point with the windows up and the song blasting, he lost himself in it, in the feeling of raw hope and determination that it gave him.

“ _Now, my brother went to college,_ _  
_ _‘cause he played football._ ” Dean could still remember when Sam left as though it were yesterday. It had been for law, not for anything to do with football, but it had still hurt like a punt straight to the stomach.

 _“I’m still hanging round,_ _  
_ _‘cause I’m a little bit small._ ” That line had always made him smile. Six foot one, and he was describing himself as small - and it was somehow true, with his giant of a brother being the one who’d left. Dean remembered the next line and his eyes lit up - it was his favourite, the best part of the whole song, the reason he’d had this one track on repeat for three summers in a row -

 _“I got me a sixty-seven Chevy,_ _  
_ _she’s low and sleek and black,”_ Dean sang, his heart soaring.  
_“Someday I’ll put her on that interstate,_  
_and NEVER LOOK BACK.”_

The room exploded as Dean half-sang, half-shouted the last words, one hand in the air, a fist. The victory, the triumph, the total vicious hope and longing and yearning of it, coursed through Dean like he was still back in that town and dreaming of a moment like this, a moment where he could be up in front of a bunch of cheering people who accepted him for who he was, and singing, and feeling so strong - God, if he could show that lost terrified hard-man kid who he’d turn into, what he’d get to be tonight -

He sang the chorus once more. This time, a few people had picked up on the tune and the lyrics and sung it along with him; Dean felt his heart ache, hurting so good, to be able to share this song and have people _get_ it, people sing it too, knowing what it meant to him and to them.

“ _Someday, I’m finally gonna let go_ _  
_ _‘cause I know there’s a better way._ _  
_ _And I wonder what’s over that rainbow_ _  
_ _I’m gonna get out of here, someday,_  
_I’m gonna get out of here, someday.”_

Dean closed out the song. Had his voice sounded any good? He’d been so focused on rescuing Cas, and on panicking, and on his memories of the song, that he’d completely forgotten to pay any attention to his technique. Had he even been in tune? Had he breathed at all through the entire thing? People through the bar were calling his name and applauding him, the loudest response of the night so far, and that was answer enough for Dean; he gave a little salute to them, let go of the microphone, and stepped off the stage on legs made of pudding.

He fought his way back over to the table where his group were sitting, smiling and accepting handshakes and pats on the back and smiles as he went.

“I loved it,” Jo told him as he passed her. “You should do country more often.”

“Try telling Charlie that,” Dean said without thinking, and then cringed when he saw her face drop.

“You try telling Charlie,” Jo said after him, as he walked away, “that it’s gonna take more than a karaoke duet to make up for what she did.”

“She’s -” Dean tried to say, but someone walked in between them, and then someone else, and Dean gave up and headed back to the table. Charlie was back, legs hooked nonchalantly over the side of her chair as usual; Hannah was excited, pleased; Cas only had eyes for him.

“Hey,” Dean said, sitting down.

“Hey,” Cas replied. “Do you come here often?”

Dean laughed, the adrenaline from performing making everything seem louder and brighter and funnier, and his legs were still not quite his own.

“Was it OK?” he asked.

“It was perfect,” Cas said.

“It was awesome!” Hannah added.

“It was country,” Charlie said, sipped her lemonade. She wasn’t even looking at Dean - she was watching Jo, across the room. Dean pressed his lips together, and looked back at Cas and Hannah, who wore similar expressions of consternation.

“Charlie’s heard me sing too often to be impressed anymore,” he said, a touch too heartily.

“Did Jo say something to you?” Charlie said. Totally absorbed in her own thing, Dean thought. No clue she’s said anything wrong. He bit back a sharp retort, breathed out slowly.

“She said you’ll have to do more than karaoke to make it right,” he said. He turned to Cas. “Do you wanna…?”

“Definitely,” Cas said. They stood up together, and left it behind - all of it, Charlie’s carelessness and Jody’s constant attitude of vague disapproval and even Hannah’s keen intensity, they left it at the table and walked away through the crowd, out and away from the blaring music and the sparkling lights and the cheering for another song.

They made it outside, and Dean breathed. His breath plumed. It was slightly too cold, in a good way; Cas stood beside him, elbows just close enough to touch. Above them, the sky was open, stars shining in an embrace as wide as the heavens, wide as the eye could see.

“I’m sure she just…” Cas said.

“Nah, it’s OK. That song means a lot to me, is all.” It felt like a relief to own that, to say it out loud.

Cas said,

“I know. You could tell, just by watching.” His voice was accusatory, clearly dissatisfied. “She’s always been a bit…”

“I know. She doesn’t mean it. And she has some stuff going on of her own that’s less great, so.”

Cas looked over at him for the first time since they’d come outside, and said,

“She covered for me, though, just like you did.”

“When she’s paying attention, there’s no one better than Charlie to have in your corner. She just... doesn’t always see it.”

“It’s hard for any of us to see things, sometimes,” Cas said. “What we need others to see in us, sometimes we hide it.”

Dean wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he stayed quiet. He knew he should be thinking deep thoughts, like Cas clearly was, but all his mind could centre around was the press of their elbows together, the point of contact. The way it thrummed through him like a bassline, like his favourite line in a song.

“I used to sit and listen to that song,” Dean said. “Over and over, and imagine getting out. Getting free.”

“And did you?”

Dean looked up at the sky, tracing patterns in the stars. He thought of how he’d made it here, to the big city. He thought of The Refuge. He thought of his brother, still with no idea that Dean wasn’t straight. He thought of Cas, who he liked more than he knew how to say, right now.

“Kinda,” Dean settled for. “But I’m not done yet.”

He looked over at Cas, who smiled at him, and he smiled back. From inside, a song started up, and Dean watched Cas’ eyes light up.

“Oh, this one,” he said. “I love this one.”

“Cas -” Dean said, broken-off, suddenly needing to say something that had occurred to him like a lightning strike when he saw Cas enjoying the sound of the music. “Hannah said some stuff about - about your label, how you don’t get to - I just, after what I said about your songs, before…”

Cas shook his head.

“What you said was true,” he said. “I had no idea what I was talking about, singing about love.”

Dean blinked. _Had?_ Past tense? He wanted to ask it, wanted to ask it, wanted to ask it -

 _“I get up in the evening,_ ” Cas sang softly. He reached for Dean’s hand, and Dean could feel his own face go soft and surprised and happy. “ _And I ain’t got nothing to say. I come home in the morning… I go to bed, feeling the same way… I ain’t nothing but tired… man, I’m just tired and bored with myself. Hey there, baby, I could use just a little help.”_ His voice was everything that Dean had remembered - even when Cas sang low and gentle, even still, it was perfectly controlled, deep, full of a meaning and intensity that never came across in his most popular songs. And his hand in Dean’s - God - his hand in Dean’s. “ _You can’t start a fire, you can’t start a fire without a spark. This gun’s for hire… even if we’re just dancing in the dark.”_

Cas looked over at Dean, who couldn’t resist; with slowness, making sure Cas could pull away or Dean had time to feel tension or wrongness in what he was doing, he turned to face Cas, pulled on their joined hands to have Cas face him, and put his hand on Cas’ hip. It was Cas, though, who began swaying them from side to side, his face relaxed, his eyes - his eyes _transcendent,_ the blue lit up and happy enough to crack in two, suddenly, as though being in Dean’s space, dancing out here in the cold and empty parking lot to the sound of Bruce Springsteen from inside was everything he’d ever wanted.

 _“Message keeps getting clearer. Radio's on and I'm moving 'round the place.”_ His body against Dean’s felt so right, just where it should be. Dean wanted to pull him in tight, tighter, tightest, wanted to climb into the crook of his neck, wanted to bury his face in Cas’ shoulder and breathe in that smell of soap and sweat, and Cas was still singing and his voice was a low rumble in Dean’s ear that he could feel in his chest. _“I check my look in the mirror, wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face… man, I ain't getting nowhere… I'm just living in a dump like this. There's something happening somewhere… baby, I just know that there is -”_

Dean leaned back, just far enough to be able to look into Cas’ eyes. They looked at each other, stared, _stared,_ just watched and watched as if this was their last chance, as if this mattered more than anything - and Dean breathed out, moved in a little closer, tilted his head, and -

Cas pulled away.

He stepped back from Dean, and his expression was a tragedy in a language Dean didn’t speak.

“Cas?” Dean said. “Are - is everything - did I…?”

“No, I - it’s me, I just -”

“There you are,” said a voice, and through the door of The Refuge came Jody, followed by Hannah, who was followed more loosely by Charlie. Dean glanced over them all, and then back at Cas, who seemed to want to say something to him but without words, using nothing but the foreign land of his face, his eyes.

“Is… everything OK?” Hannah asked, looking between them.

“Yeah,” Dean said, when Cas didn’t say anything. “Yeah, we were just getting some air.”

“I think it’s time to go,” Jody said. “Donna texted to say there was someone sniffing around your hotel so we’ll have to find you somewhere new, possibly, if they don’t leave soon. Better to get going early.”

“Right,” Dean said, because Cas still didn’t seem to be ready to talk, though he’d finally managed to stop looking at Dean and was now eyeing Jody as though she were a stranger. “Yeah. Uh… so… I’ll see you for practice tomorrow? Are we still on for that?”

He half-expected Cas to say no - no, he shouldn’t come, no, he’d pushed things too far, he’d behaved inappropriately, he’d broken Cas’ trust -

“I can’t wait,” Cas said, and he sounded like he meant it. For a moment, Dean thought that he was going to lean in and kiss Dean goodbye - his eyes were on Dean’s lips, he seemed to lean in - but then he turned and headed out into the parking lot. Jody and Hannah followed him, Hannah giving Dean an awkward wave as they went.

“That was weird,” Charlie said, moving to stand next to him. “Like, real weird vibe out here. _I can’t wait_ was also weird. Like, formal… too formal, or something. Did you screw up?” She said it conversationally, and Dean felt his affection for her rush back. He shrugged.

“I don’t know,” Dean said, as the car’s engine started and the driver reversed out of their parking spot. “I don’t… think so?”

“Did you figure out if he likes you?”

Dean stared after the car as it drove away. Eventually, Charlie left him standing there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH. what is going ONNNNNNNNNNNNN. I mean I know what's going on but what is going ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN. you know? Anyway, apologies for the slightly late update - I could only start really working on it today because life really be like that sometimes. Every time I type out one of these end notes I always think, hey, but this week that's coming is gonna be way more chill, and then I live it and I'm like, well then. WELL THEN. So this time I'm going to outwit the universe by expecting a terrible no-good very-bad week and seeing what happens. I'm clearly going to now lose all my socks and get dunked on by a pro wrestler who mistook me for their worst enemy or something else worse than I could ever expect. If that happens, next update may be late as I limp around buying socks.
> 
> The song that Dean sings is a real one! Steve Earle's Someday. I've wanted to use it in a fic since Forever - when I first watched spn, I heard what make Dean's car was and thought "oh, like that song Someday". And it's FINALLY MY TIMEEEEEEE.
> 
> Hope you have all had a really good one!! Take care out there my friends, acquaintances, and pro wrestlers <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming to you from Berlin, here be chapter eight!! I hope you enjoy. The next chapter will be up in a week, as usual - Friday 31st May. Until then, fine friends!!

“OK, so, any questions?” Cas said, scanning down the bullet-point list that he’d just read through, and then looking up at Dean. They were sitting in a quiet corner of a recording studio, one that Dean had never heard of before in his life - small and tucked away, the sort of place that Dean had come to expect Cas would like. Dean had made his way here with some difficulty, getting lost a couple of times before finally realising the place was one of the shabby unassuming buildings he’d driven past at least twice. And now he was here, and it felt surreal - or, in fact, it felt more than real, compared to the blur of work and more work at the garage that had been the rest of his day.

“Dean? Questions?”

Dean jerked back to the moment. He knew Cas was asking about the set list for the concert, but through Dean's mind ran the litany of worries and hopes that he'd been slowly, slowly translating into words all through his day of work, taking the tight feeling in his chest and drawing it out. It was something that he'd even done that; his first instinct had been the same as always, to push down the feeling and hide it under work and food and work and food and work - but he'd caught himself and tried to think about it, to make sense of the feeling.

_ What's going on with us? Are you feeling this? Am I making it all up in my head because I want it to happen? Should I go and get a copy of that poet you told me about on the night we met, what's his name, Catullus  _ (Dean knew the name, remembered it just fine, but it seemed better to pretend it took a moment to come to him) _ , or is it gonna sit on my shelf when you leave and never come back, until I don't wanna look at it anymore and give it away? _

Cas was watching him, still, letting him take the seconds to think. The silence didn't seem to particularly bother him.

Dean swallowed.

“Nah,” he said. "No questions."

“Are you sure?”

“Nope, I got it.” 

Cas didn’t look convinced. He shifted on the sofa where they were sitting, in a gently lit room with a dark wood floor and a piano in the corner. The recording studio where Jody had set up their rehearsal had a tasteful, old-fashioned minimalism vibe.

“Run me through it,” Cas said. “I just want to check. We’ll go over it again before the show, but I just... don’t want you to get lost or feel overwhelmed on the day.”

Dean thought that the chances of just about anything being able to stop him feeling overwhelmed were at zero or possibly below, but he cleared his throat gamely.

“We go up on stage. I hopefully don’t immediately decide to make a break for it out into the audience and far, far away. We’ll sing one of your songs together. We’re on midway through the show, so afterwards I leave the stage and let you get on with doing your thing.”

“Exit, pursued by a bear,” Cas said.

Dean opened his mouth to request a twink instead, and then decided it was somewhat in poor taste, and reined it in. With how he felt about Cas, it just didn’t seem like the moment for the joke.

“I’ll get my mic from Jody and give it back to her when I leave the stage,” he said. “No showboating, no jumping up on any of the stage equipment or instruments, no crowd-surfing, and no public indecency. Does singing horribly out of tune count as public indecency?”

“Probably,” Cas said seriously.

“Yeah. I thought so.”

“One bad note, and they’ll throw away the key.”

“Oh God, was that a pun?”

“... Maybe.”

Dean snorted.

“I’m going to rot in prison for the rest of my days, oh god. Tell my Japanese peace lily that I love her. Water her for me, Cas. Swear to me you will.”

“Dean, you’ll be fine.” Cas' tone was a blessing, cutting through the odd superficiality of their joking repartee, soft and sincere. The sofa was long enough that they were sitting a good distance from each other, but the expression in Cas’ eyes afforded a quiet kind of intimacy. Dean fiddled with the corner of a silky throw cushion and looked down at the floor.

“Like, I just… I mean, you know that you can rethink this, right?” he said, with a half-smile, trying to keep his voice light.

“Rethink?” Cas tone was puzzled.

“Dude. You literally met me singing crappy karaoke at a bar. Last night I didn't want to sing 'cause I was freaked out about it and I almost choked up there when I remembered I was gonna have to do this onstage with you before too long. I'm a total… I mean, I've never done anything like this and I don't wanna show you up."

"Dean…" Cas started, but Dean held up a hand. He had to give Cas an out, here. Especially if Cas really did feel anything like what Dean was feeling, which would make it even more awkward and embarrassing to try to figure out how to bring it up.

"If you’re having second thoughts about putting me on the stage in front of… shit… thousands of people, then… I wanna know. I'd rather know than have you go through with it and feel bad about the whole thing. I just… you can be honest. I'll be the one to quit, to save face for you so you don't have to answer press questions about why you did it, if that'll help." Cas was looking at Dean with an expression on his face that Dean couldn't read; it was complex, it went deep. 

"You've thought this through," he said.

"I want you to have an out," Dean pressed on. "I mean, you haven’t even ever heard me sing more than a couple of times, and you have no idea whether our voices will even sound good together, and -”

“Then let’s practise,” Cas interrupted, sitting forward on the sofa, jarring Dean out of his increasingly worried monologue. “We need to figure out the duet. I can hear you sing that.”

He stood up, and Dean felt small and stupid, sitting on the sofa and looking up at him.

"Come on," Cas said.

“Just, like, if I don’t sound the way you wanted…” Dean said. “Just swear you’ll tell me and you won’t let me go on stage and make a fool out of you.”

Cas, who had been looking unusually forbidding, eased his expression into something softer. He tilted his head to one side, eyes flicking over Dean.

“Well,” he said, “maybe you making a fool of me with your singing is something I’d be alright with.”

The words thrummed like strings plucked by deeper meaning, and Dean didn’t know what to say. He smiled, and let his scepticism show.

“Yeah?” he said, keeping it surface-level. “You’d be okay if I screwed up every note? Crowd-surfed my way through the performance? Flashed the audience and ran away?”

Cas lifted one shoulder in a little shrug.

“That depends,” he said.

“On?”

“Whether I get to run away with you.”

Cas reached out a hand, loosely, as if to offer it to Dean and help him to stand up.

Dean could feel his heart beating fast in his chest. Cas was looking right into his eyes, his expression complicated and conflicted. This was - this was  _ something,  _ wasn’t it? This was a moment? If Dean stood up now and asked the right question, could he take this moment, and -

Dean half-reached out - but just as he did, something changed in Cas’ eyes, and he dropped the hand and turned away.

“Let’s practise,” he said, walking over to the piano, leaving Dean with his hand half-raised on the sofa. Cas didn’t look back; he only sat down behind the keyboard, and frowned at the sheets of music on the rack.

Dean stared after him. Had he seen something in Dean’s eyes that had put him off? Had he read Dean’s thoughts, somehow, and realised that Dean had been taking him way too seriously or misreading him? What had gone wrong? Did Cas even realise something had gone wrong, or had he never meant to actually help Dean up, just gesture for him to stand?

The questions were machine-gun fire and Dean was being flayed. He ducked for cover under a pretence of normalcy, and hitched on a smile, and followed Cas over towards the piano. 

“Let’s do this,” he said. Cas nodded up at him, and laid his fingers down on the piano keys in a gentle, practised movement.

“We’ll be singing one of my songs,” he said, sounding a little apologetic. "At the concert. So that's what we'll have to practise."

“What - one of your songs? At your show? Where people have paid to see you?” Dean folded his arms and shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

Cas’ smile was disguised by the way he dropped his chin, and he raised one shoulder in a half-shrug.

“It’s the one you heard me sing at the auditions. Oh - speaking of the auditions, don’t let me forget to ask you to sign one last bit of paperwork before you leave. Hannah forgot to print it for yesterday." 

"Bet Jody was happy about that. What's this one for, then?"

"I think there's a plan to put the video recording on YouTube and they need your details and a signature for it. Again, everyone else signed on the day, but because we, ah -”

“Wait, on YouTube?” Dean interrupted, his heart sinking. “Why?”

“To build up hype for that part of the show, I think,” Cas said. He was sitting dead centre of the long piano stool, his hands still placed absent-mindedly on the piano keyboard, ready to play. “Is that… alright?”

Dean was silent. He found himself looking off to one side, his mind whirring as he stared at a large, elegant painting of a stack of old-looking books on the wall. Of course they were going to post the video, of course they were - why else would they have filmed it all? But he had somehow not thought through where the footage would end up - he had thought perhaps they'd use it for a video during the concert itself, or something, if he'd thought about it at all.

If the video were up on YouTube - well, Sam was no big fan of Castiel to Dean’s knowledge, probably didn’t follow him on social media, so it wasn’t as though Sam would definitely and immediately know once it was uploaded. But Castiel was a big enough name that the video would definitely spread, and maybe someone who knew Dean would see it, and maybe that person also knew Sam, and then…

“You look worried,” Cas said, shifting on the stool, his expression turning serious. “Is there a problem?”

“I, uh…” What was he supposed to do? Just ask Cas to halt his PR machine, because Dean hadn’t told his brother that he could sing yet? Pointlessly, too, because in two weeks Dean was going to be up on that damn stage in front of thousands of people anyway, and the chances of Sam failing to hear about it from  _ someone  _ were… slim? Beyond slim. Slimmer than a book entitled  _ Reasons Dean Wanted Sam to Find Out He Can Sing.  _ So slim as to be pretty much non-existent.

“Dean,” Cas said. He moved further on the stool, making room for Dean. “What is it? If something’s wrong, we can fix it.”

“No, I - I just - ugh,” Dean said, and sat down, making sure that he was at the far end of the stool and not encroaching any more than necessary on Cas’ physical space. Cas moved his leg slightly closer. Dean couldn’t meet him in the eyes as he said, “I just, uh. Didn’t tell my brother yet. About the singing. Like, that I can sing at all. And, uh. If he sees the, uh - the video, then…”

“Oh,” Cas said, understanding dawning on his face. “Oh, yes, I see.”

“It’s dumb. I know I should’ve told him before. Should’ve told him about a lot of stuff.” The look on Cas’ face was compassionate enough that Dean knew he was making some accurate deductions about what Dean had and hadn’t told his brother. Probably putting two and two together, after overhearing Dean’s conversation on the phone the first night that they’d met.

There was a slight pause, and then Cas said,

“The upload can easily be stopped.”

“No, it’s OK. You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Cas said.

“No - really, it’s OK,” Dean said, more firmly. “I don’t want your whole… thing… to be stopped, just because -”

“Let me get on the phone,” Cas said, and made to stand up, but Dean put a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him to sit. Under his hand, he could feel the size of Cas’ shoulder, and realised suddenly that Cas must be pretty strong - but Cas acquiesced easily, his eyes troubled.

“It should be stopped if you’re not comfortable with it,” he said. “The show is sold out, so no one has any reason to insist it be uploaded. And when you tell your brother should be something that’s under your control, Dean. Not pressured by anyone or anything.”

Dean swallowed. He took his hand off Cas’ shoulder, realising that he’d let it linger.

“I mean, yeah, in an ideal world, I guess,” he said. “But, like… life doesn’t work like that, right? There are always gonna be pressures and there are always gonna be excuses and, just… there’s always gonna be stuff you can’t control.” He felt suddenly stupid, talking about big life choices in this tasteful music room in an exclusive little recording studio in a fancy neighbourhood just out of Austin, but he tried to press on, stay in the moment. “I dunno, I - I mean, if I really didn’t want him to find out about it, I’d have to pull out of the whole thing. Not do the concert with you, either. Because he’s gonna hear about that, for sure. I’d have to walk away from the whole thing.”

Cas was very still, looking down at his knees.

“I see,” he said. “If that’s what you want to do…” 

“It’s not,” Dean said, and as he said it, he realised it was true. He was petrified of going up on that stage - obviously he was - and he didn’t want to tell Sam about this whole part of his life that he’d kept separate, and he didn’t want the spotlight and he didn’t want old friends calling him up about it and he didn’t want to be the talk of the town, but when he thought about dropping out, his chest felt empty. All he could see in his mind was Cas up there on the stage with someone else - or worse, perhaps, alone.

He wanted to be the one up there with Cas. He wanted to be the one to sing with him. He wanted to look into Cas’ eyes and sing about love and he wanted it with a fierceness, a rawness, a kind of dark-red-rose hunger that he only felt now, when he had the choice to leave it unsatisfied.

“Are you sure?” Cas said, watching Dean closely.

“I want to sing with you,” Dean said, with certainty. “And I want to tell my brother about - about stuff, about me.” 

“Alright. As long as you’re not being forced into rushing this.”

Dean shook his head.

“Nah. I mean, I wouldn’t do it without this push, probably, to be honest. But I’ve - like, I’ve been hiding this stuff from him. It puts distance between us, and I know he knows something’s up and doesn’t get why I’m lying, and I’m kinda… kinda done with lying to him. I  _ need  _ the push. He’s - Sam’s - I mean, he’s my best friend.” Dean felt the sudden and awful threat of his throat closing, his eyes filling, and he coughed gruffly. “I haven’t been treating him like it, but he is, so. This is what I need to do. What I should’ve done a long time ago.”

He couldn’t look up at Cas, knowing the emotion in his eyes was too open and real. Instead he reached out a single finger and tapped a note on the keyboard.

It rang in the air.

Cas was quiet. He put out a hand, and pressed another. 

The two notes sang out into the hush of the room in a simple harmony, a low and a high C. They gently faded into silence, seconds passing. Dean pulled his hand back from the piano.

He could feel Cas watching him for a moment, and then Cas pressed another note, and another. His hands were steady and sure on the piano. Dean looked at them, and then glanced up at Cas, and half-smiled at him.

As though the smile were permission, Cas raised his other hand and unfurled the fingers over the keys, and began to play. A soft melody, one that Dean recognised with a little ache in his chest - and then Cas began to hum along, and then sing.

_ “Mmm-mmm mmmm mm, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter.” _

He left a gap for the next line, playing only the piano, for a half-second, Dean almost joined in, but the notes passed by too quickly and his throat was too tight.

_ “Here comes the sun… here comes the sun, and I say…”  _ Cas sang.

He left another gap, let the note linger; this time, Dean breathed out, and tried.

_ “It’s alright,”  _ he sang, low and quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Cas’ expression shift at the sound of his voice. Cas played on, the notes rolling out under his fingers like gentle rain, like the last drops of a storm about to lift; he played so well. Dean had always assumed Castiel could sing, and that was it.

_ “Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces.”  _

_ “Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here.”  _ Dean’s voice was a little louder now.

_ “Here comes the sun, _ ” they sang together, and Dean felt his heart twist - they were singing the same song, at the same time, for the first time. And they sounded good, Dean thought, they sounded so good.  _ “Here comes the sun.” _

_ “And I say -” _

_ “- it’s alright.” _

Dean wished he could play the piano, so that half the music could be him, too. Maybe if he asked, one day Cas would teach him how to play something simple, and then they could play and sing together. He could hear Cas skip the bridge, heading straight into the third verse, his fingers nimble and his face concentrated. Dean watched him.

_ “Little darling, I see the ice is slowly melting.” _

_ “Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been clear.”  _ When Dean sang them, the words came out unexpectedly heartfelt. The emotions that had threatened and then seemed to pass when Cas began to play loomed again, Dean feeling suddenly a little choked. He tried to breathe easily. 

It felt like years since things had been clear and simple and open. But he was on the right path to that openness again. He was going in the right direction.

_ “Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun, and I say, it’s alright.”  _ This time, they sang the whole phrase together. When Cas said  _ it’s alright,  _ God, Dean could believe him; he let the words be warm hands that cupped Dean’s pounding heart, his fears, and stilled them.

_ “It’s alright,”  _ Cas sang.  _ “It’s alright. _ ”

He wound down the melody, playing out the last bars in a diminuendo that eased them both back into the silence of the elegant room where they were sitting. Dean didn’t want to move, didn’t want to breathe too loudly, didn’t want to break the moment - but then Cas sighed, and looked over at Dean, and smiled.

“Well,” he said, “now I’ve heard you sing another song.”

“Right,” Dean said, blinking and pulling himself together as best he could. “So… verdict?”

“Mmm. I think you’ll do,” Cas said, but he said it in that way that plucked on deep-note strings of meaning, that way that felt important and deliberate, entirely intended.

“Oh, yeah?” Dean said. He felt himself smiling. “Well, then. I guess we better get to practising the actual song we’re gonna sing.”

"Mmm. Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"What for?"

"Giving me an out."

Cas’ hands rested on the piano again, and when he met Dean’s eyes, it was with a gentleness that was somehow a little dark, a little aching, a little beautifully shadowed; and Dean felt  _ romanced  _ by that look, more profoundly than he’d ever felt it before - felt shaken, felt seen, felt desired in a way that was passion and longing and hope and heart, all heart, right there in the blue of Cas’ eyes.

He breathed out. In his mind burned the image of him leaning in, pressing his lips to Cas’ - 

“Let’s sing,” said Cas, looking away, and the moment broke. Dean watched him as he began to play.

He wanted to buy a copy of Catullus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week I managed to take a little bit of time off!! I am in Germany and today I walked round a big lovely Schloss and yesterday I saw a very cool goat on top of a rock so as I'm sure you can imagine, things are rolling much better for me these past couple of days. That lovely feeling of respite after a long time of not-that? Wunderbar. I hope the universe is gifting you similar miracles!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooh, this one is a BIG CHUNKY FRIEND. A REAL LOVELY THICC FRIEND. I hope you enjoy my dudes!! The next chapter goes up next Friday, the 7th June. <3

Dean dropped down onto his sofa, setting his phone down on the cushioned arm beside him and flipping open the pages of a book. He’d managed to catch Barnes and Noble still open after the rehearsal, and had picked up a copy of Catullus’ poems.

It felt odd to hold the thin volume in his hands. He’d on-and-offed about this for days and at last he had the damn book, and he could read it, and it was just a _book._ All the reasons he’d not wanted to get it, all the vague worries about Cas leaving and Dean having to keep the book or make the decision to get rid of the book, seemed out of proportion when it was just pages between two covers, perfectly ordinary. No special significance, no glow around it, and no feeling in him that he’d made a big step of trust or belief in Cas - just the feeling of smooth paper. Was he disappointed by that, or relieved? Whatever. He should just read the damn poems. See what Cas had been talking about, the night that they’d met.

He flipped through the pages - guiltily, he skipped the long pages of notes and analysis, heading straight for the translations.

For some little time, he simply read in the quiet. Sometimes he jumped ahead a few pages, sometimes he went back, not wanting to stick to a particular order. His apartment hummed around him, the fridge whirring, the dim lamp buzzing ever so slightly in the corner. Dean’s home was painted in blues and greys, tones that he hadn’t picked out but had got used to. It was perfectly clean, at least, though the sofa wasn’t particularly comfortable; Dean shifted on it unconsciously, frowning as he turned the pages, trying to find the best way to sit. He’d been meaning to get a new sofa for months. Years, in fact.

Dean chewed his lip as he read. He could see what Cas had meant. Catullus - he was saying things that Dean didn’t like a lot of the time, he was mean and he was petty and he was so _alive_ through that, somehow. In reading the epics, Dean had always felt as though he caught glimpses of the writers, little hints and clues to their personalities and taste. Here, with Catullus, it was all there on the page. He hated this person and that person, he loved this person, he missed that person, he wanted to kiss and fuck and weep and he talked about it.  It was off-putting and it was vivid. Dean didn’t know what to make of half of it. He liked some of the poems more than others. He felt like he was missing a lot, just stuff he didn’t understand.

He reached for his phone.

_ < reading catullus. he’s quite a guy _

He typed it out, read it over a couple of times, and then sent it. Almost immediately, his phone lit up silently with a return notification.

_ > Do you still want to go and get froyo with him? _

Dean considered. He looked down at the page in front of him, reading the lines there. They were scorching and ugly, the condemnation of his friends that Cas had told him about back at the bar.

_ < I think he’d probably write a poem about it afterwards saying I’m dumb or something _

_ > I think he would have had too good a time with you to want to do that. _

Dean could feel a little balloon of happiness blow up in his chest at the indirect compliment. He was smiling down at his phone as he typed out a reply.

_ < you never know I guess _

_ > That’s the fun thing about dead people. You can pretend they like you. _

A snort was out before Dean could stop it. He stared down at the text for a second, trying to figure out how to react. He tried typing out a few things but everything he wrote sounded either too deadpan or too amused, all gushing; instead, he hit record at the side of the screen to send a voice message, and began to talk.

“Uh, little dark, maybe?” he said, but the laughter was still there in his voice. “Like, just a little?”

He sent it, and read another couple of poems as he fidgeted with his phone in the other hand. Before too long, the light of a return voice message lit up the palm of his hand, and he tapped to listen.

 _“Well,”_ Cas said, and one word in his voice was enough to make Dean smile. Cas’ voice, in his apartment, echoing off the walls. _“Maybe a little. But it’s true, isn’t it? They’re not around to tell you they hate you so you might as well assume they like you. Or would have liked you.”_ There was a rustling sound, as though Cas were moving plastic bags around. _“You could decide that they would have wanted to write angry poetry about you, or you can decide that they would have wanted to get frozen yoghurt with you. You know, I think…”_ More rustling, and then the sound of a packet being opened. _“... I think it’s pretty common for people who aren’t straight to feel like people from the past would judge them. But it’s more fun to imagine that your heroes from antiquity would agree with you and like you. And I think… I think a lot of people, mostly straight people, might feel angry at the thought of projecting feelings onto dead people in a way that’s anachronistic or unlikely. But the thing is,”_ Dean could hear Cas warming to his theme, building up a head of steam, and he couldn’t have explained why exactly it made him so happy, but he was beaming into the blue-grey quiet of his apartment. _“The thing is, if someone in the future, hundreds of years from now, is going through something and hears one of my songs and wants to decide that my song is about them and their problem, and wants to think that I would have supported them even though I might never have even thought about their specific issue in my life because it just doesn’t exist in our society or I haven’t come into contact with it…_ ” Dean could hear Cas getting a little lost in his own sentence. “... _then I’d be OK with that! So fuck you!”_

The message ended. It was so abrupt that Dean actually laughed out loud; when he looked down at his screen, he saw that Cas had sent another couple of messages in text.

 _ > I mean, duck you in general, not you specifically. _ _  
_ _ > *Fuck _   
_> This is a mess._

And now Dean was properly laughing, pressing his lips together to try to hold it in because it felt downright bizarre to be snorting away to himself alone in his apartment, but not quite able to suppress it completely because he kept reading _duck you in general_ and setting himself off again. He could picture Cas’ face, the way he’d have his mouth slightly pulled to one side in annoyance at being unclear and making a typo.

God, Dean wanted to kiss Cas. The thought appeared briefly, like a loose spark from a blazing fire. He pushed it away, and then wondered if he had to, and called it back, and then reminded himself that Cas might not actually like him that way anyway so he shouldn’t lean into thoughts like that, and pushed it away again.

Was it all wishful thinking? Was he imagining this whole thing in his head? He normally dealt so much in tangibles, in _hey you touched my leg I think you like me_ or _hey you asked me out I think you like me_ or _hey we just made out I think you like me._ This uncertainty, this could-he-maybe-possibly, it was new. It was like a pressure between his shoulder blades, a fizzing of possibility in his head, a burning heat. He wanted Cas, he wanted Cas to want him, he wanted to know if Cas wanted him in the same way that Dean wanted him, if Cas wanted to touch him, if Cas wanted to ask him out, if Cas wanted to make out - God, it almost hurt to think about it, Dean wanted it so bad -

Urgh.

 _duck you in general,_ though.

And people from history, and deciding to think that they’d like you. Right. Yeah. He hit record.

“No, but -” He broke off to laugh when he thought about the _duck you_ thing again, and almost cancelled the recording, and then decided to carry on. “No, OK, I totally agree. Seriously. I mean, I guess you can just make it up with people who are gone and you can just decide, right, and it doesn’t hurt anyone. I mean, they’re dead, after all. You can’t do it with people who are actually still alive, like, you can’t just decide they like you just because you want them to, because they’re real living people and it’s just wishful thinking and maybe they don’t like you that way.” Dean cleared his throat. Why was he talking about this? Way too close to the wire. He scrambled for something else to talk about, a different direction to go with the topic, anything. “But, yeah. Uh… anyway, yeah. Uh. I mean, yeah, uh, I remember, like… I mean, it’s kinda different because it’s a character, not a real person who’s just gone, but I remember feeling so sad once when I was watching Batman cartoons and the thought occurred to me, like. If I ever met Batman I’d have to hide that I don’t only like girls because he’d probably not let me in the Batmobile if he knew because he was an adult and pretty much every adult I knew then, I knew they’d hate me if they found out. But I mean, now I know adults who aren’t like that and maybe Batman is like them, actually. Like…” Dean was the one warming to a theme, now, his voice speeding up and getting more excited. He could feel a world opening up to him, and it was like taking the lid off a part of his mind that he’d been keeping firmly shut. “Like, Batman… I could just decide he’d like me. And be cool with who I am. Like, I could just decide that. I could just - even, like, I can just be like, Batman’s bi.” Dean blinked. He paused for a second, thinking. Somehow, saying those two words out loud had hit him hard. Which was bizarre, because the two words had been _Batman’s bi,_ which would probably just make most people laugh. “Batman’s bi.” He cleared his throat. He needed to finish the voice message. “Uh - uh, yeah. Anyway, I’ve gotta get to bed, got an early start tomorrow. But I’ll, uh, yeah. See you on Thursday for the rehearsal?”

The return messages came back a minute or so later.

 _ > Batman is bi. Without a doubt. _ _  
_ _ > Yes see you on Thursday, back at the Ground Floor. _   
_> Goodnight Dean._

_ < goodnight _

Dean bit his lip, hesitating before sending the message. He wanted to write something else, something that didn’t leave the message too stark and careless, but he couldn’t use a pet name or anything like that. He couldn’t say _Goodnight handsome_ or _Goodnight good-lookin_ or _Goodnight babe,_ because God, if Cas texted back to tell him that he felt uncomfortable with Dean speaking to him that way or that he didn’t think of Dean that way - Dean didn’t feel like tonight was the night he wanted to handle being told that. And more than that, he didn’t want to make Cas uncomfortable. It’d be worse if Cas didn’t like it and then didn’t tell Dean to try to be polite, and Dean couldn’t tell what he’d done. He needed to do something like that in person for the first time so that he’d be able to see if he’d messed up.

Cas was probably thinking Dean had just fallen asleep by now, he’d taken so long just sitting on his uncomfortable sofa and staring into space with a half-finished message typed out on his phone screen. Dean licked his lips and wrote,

_ < goodnight Cas _

He settled on it and sent it. The closest Dean could get to telling Cas how he felt, right now, was just saying his name. It’d have to be enough for tonight.

***

Dean glanced down at his phone, noticed the time, and began to pack up his things. As he placed his tools carefully into his toolbox, making sure they all lay neatly, his mind was mostly on Sam. He’d been meaning to call his brother but for two days, now, he’d chickened out every time he’d thought of doing it - and now it was the day of the next rehearsal for the Castiel concert, and Sam still didn’t know Dean was in it.

Sam still didn’t know… about anything. He’d texted Dean a couple of times in the past two days and Dean hadn’t responded, thinking that he’d answer Sam’s messages when he just called, but then he hadn’t worked up the nerve to call.

He’d have to do it soon, or it’d be taken out of his hands.

“Hey, Dean, you taking off?”

“Sure am,” Dean called back over his shoulder, his bag swinging on his shoulder as he turned back to face the garage. Emerging from under a big pickup truck, wearing orange overalls and a baseball cap, was his boss. Bobby Singer was bearded, smudged over with oil, and had his usual expression of vague disapproval. Damn. If Dean couldn’t get away, he was going to be in for it with Jody for sure. “I told you I’d be leaving early Thursday afternoon, remember? I brought you that nice coffee…”

Bobby stood up, straightened his cap, and walked over.

“Yeah, I remember,” he said, and Dean relaxed. “You all finished up on that Chevy?”

“She’s running sweeter than the coffee.” Bobby nodded his head, looking satisfied. He shoved his hands into the orange pockets of his overalls. Around them, there was the hammer and buzz of the other mechanics at work.

“Been taking time off more’n usual,” Bobby pointed out, as Dean half-turned to go. “Everything OK?”

“Oh, yeah. Nothing bad.” Dean shifted uneasily on the concrete, not wanting to say too much more. Somehow it felt like he wasn’t screwing up too hard with Sam so long as he just didn’t tell other people before him - apart from Charlie, of course - damn. Dean really needed to call him.

“You sure, kid?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just stuff keeps coming up.” He glanced out the wide open doors of the garage, towards freedom.

“Finally applying for a different job?” Bobby asked, pulling a mint out of a pocket, inspecting it for cleanness, and then popping it in his mouth.

Dean blinked.

“Bobby, please. You know I’d never leave you.”

“Mmm. Well. Maybe you should,” Bobby said, sucking on the mint and staring pensively over at a nearby truck, taking Dean aback with his sudden seriousness.

“What?”

“Just sayin’.”

“Bobby,” Dean said, at a loss. “You don’t like my work?”

“Nah, that ain’t it. Your job’s safe, don’t worry. I’m just sayin’, your dad got you this job ten years ago and you told me then you didn’t wanna stay forever.” Bobby shrugged. “Thought maybe you might be doin’ something towards that this past week, or something. I don’t know.” He looked embarrassed about having spoken up - but if Dean knew Bobby, this was something that had been on his mind for a long time. He wasn’t one to speak his thoughts uninvited without a good three-year run-up.

Dean readjusted the bag on his shoulder.

“It’s just a... project I’m working on,” Dean said. “It’ll be over on the 30th, and then everything’s going back to normal. You’re gonna have to put up with this face being around for a while yet.”

“Ain’t a question of putting up with it,” Bobby said, and seemed to want to say more, but didn’t. There was something a little off-balance about him, something worried. Dean reached out and clapped his shoulder, the orange overalls a familiar texture under his palm.

“I’m good, Bobby,” he said. “I like it here just fine, okay.” He started to walk away. “Except I’ve been telling you for years about the damn overalls. We look like we work in a prison.”

Bobby raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Dean could feel eyes on his back as he walked away towards his car, the cold air shuddering his lungs, and the thoughts in his head reverberating. He hadn’t thought Bobby even remembered that there had been a time when Dean hadn’t wanted to come to work at the garage. The life he lived there was easy, it was normal; he made good enough money and he was lucky to.

He got into his car. It was true that in the back of his mind, he always thought of the garage as a kind of temporary solution to the problem of needing money for a place to live and things to eat. It wasn’t a vocation, it was just… it was work. He’d done it since he was 18 and he’d pretty much exhausted all the challenges it had to offer; yeah, it was boring sometimes, it was cold in the garage sometimes, Dean had found himself dreaming that something new would turn up sometimes, sure. But it was work, and it kept the lights on. If he tried to figure out something else, something he liked more…

Dean started the car. He could think about it later. Just trying to imagine it was stressing him out. Instead, he put the Impala in Drive and hit the gas, heading for the Ground Floor Theatre - via the nearest grocery store, where he made a quick stop-off.

“Hi,” said a familiar face when Dean reached the theatre and walked into the lobby - and then the face broke into a smile when Dean held out a brimming box of donuts. “Well, hey! Thank you!”

“How’s it going?” Dean asked Hannah, as they bit into a white-iced one with green sprinkles.

Hannah gave him a thumbs-up through their mouthful and then pointed at him.

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks.”

Hannah swallowed thickly.

“You looked surprised to see me,” they said, looking down at the donut with a kind of admiration that made the stop-off worth it on its own. Dean felt a little kick of liking for Hannah, watching them consider their donut.

“Oh, yeah. Just, Cas said his team were coming later but I kinda thought it would just be me and him here for the first bit, like how we were at the studio before.”

“Mmm-mmm.” Hannah shook their head. “Jody wanted me here for safety reasons and to help with the equipment and some admin stuff, she wants to upload a video today I think. She’s also here to direct you and she needs to be near Cas when we do the upload so that she can talk to him about anything that comes up, if there’s a problem or whatever. Cas isn’t great at answering his phone so she likes to be right next to him when she does this sort of thing. Oh, Donna’s around, too, but that’s just because Jody’s here. You won’t be in make-up today.” Hannah smiled at Dean as he nodded, taking it all in. “You know, I’m glad it’s you,” they said. “Doing the concert, I mean. I wanted to say before, at The Refuge, but I forgot and then the night ended kinda soon.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, trying to sound casual and not like he’d been thinking about the way the night had ended round and round and round ever since it had happened. “Yeah, it was sorta weird.”

“It was a good night, though,” Hannah said.

“Yeah, it was good.”

“You sang so well. That’s why I’m glad it’s you doing the concert. Also for the audition, you were great. I saw the footage.” Hannah smiled at him, a little knowingly and a little shyly. It was an odd expression, one that Dean hadn’t expected to see. “It was really touching.”

Touching? Dean could already feel himself starting to cringe.

“Uh… thanks,” Dean said awkwardly, closing the box of donuts. He found himself hoping that no one else would ever see that footage, and then remembered what Cas had told him the other night at their first rehearsal session, and felt his stomach drop. “That would be the, uh - the footage that’s going to be in the video of the auditions, right? The one that’s gonna be posted online?”

“Yeah. They’re going to upload it today, I think. That’s the video I’m here to help with.”

Crap. _Crap._ Today? Dean still hadn’t given Sam a call. He should’ve done it yesterday, done it this morning, but he’d put it off and put it off, like an idiot.

Maybe it would be better if Sam saw the video first, though? Then he could have time to get over the whole _hey, Dean can actually sing sometimes_ and that’d clear a path for the _hey, Dean is bi_ revelation to follow. Or maybe Sam would be hurt by finding out about that whole thing via video?

Dean cleared his throat, and set the matter aside. He was here now for the rehearsal and there was no time to be going and calling his brother. _Focus on what’s in front of you, Winchester._ He took himself literally, opened the box of donuts back up, picked one out, and took a big bite.

Hannah, lost in the stickiness of their own donut, didn’t seem to have noticed Dean going quiet. They licked the icing off their fingers appreciatively, and smiled at Dean.

“That was amazing,” they said. “I didn’t have time for lunch today.”

“That’s unhealthy,” Dean said.

“Happens a lot,” Hannah said, shrugging. “I’m just really bad at time management and lunch is what always gets squeezed out.”

“Next time, I’m bringing you a ton of carrot sticks instead. Or a cheeseburger.”

“I’ll take the cheeseburger,” Hannah said, smiling. They had a surprisingly open and bright smile that seemed to wash away the usual expression of slight nervousness and solemnity on their face. “OK, anyway, I’m making you late. Head on through to the stage. They’re all in there.”

“Okay. One more?”

Hannah looked like they were about to decline, but Dean waved the open box enticingly. There were at least ten more donuts inside.

“Go on, then,” they said, reaching for a powdered one this time.

Dean nodded to them with a smile in parting, and headed towards the doors to the theatre itself. It was surreal, somehow, to be back in this place - so soon after the auditions, and yet it felt like a lifetime ago that he’d last been here, hoping to catch a glimpse of the guy he’d met in the bar the night before. The guy he’d been about to find out was an international megastar. The guy he’d been going to run away with, out a window.

“Okay, now stand up straight,” he heard Jody saying as he walked in.

“I am standing up straight,” grumbled a voice from the stage, and Dean felt his heart give a little flip. There was Cas - or rather, there was Castiel, because he was in full feathered mask, his eyes concealed behind the black mesh. He looked magnificent and beautiful and kind of spooky, but the slightly petulant defiance of what he’d said took the edge off, made him familiar.

“Dean!” Cas reached up for the mask, but Jody pointed a finger at him.

“Don’t you take that off,” she warned. “We’re walking through the scene as it’ll be on the night and that means you won’t be able to help Dean with what to do by making a face at him. You can take it off once we’ve walked through it. Dean, honey, good to see you. Oh my god, donuts?”

“Uh, yeah. Just thought you might be hungry.”

“Much appreciated.” Jody reached for one. “Listen, I need you to focus up, today. Cas might think you’re beyond amazing but I’m gonna need to see it. I know it probably feels like no big deal now when there’s just us here, but we’re gonna be putting on a big, big show on the thirtieth and I need you to be just as prepared and on it as any professional. People have paid good money for their tickets.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, trying to look as though he’d taken in everything she’d said, though his mind had shorted out somewhere around the point where the words _Cas might think you’re beyond amazing_ had come out of her mouth.

“What’s going on?” said Cas, up on the stage.

Dean nodded once at Jody, and she smiled at him. “OK. Let’s have you up there. Oh, can I just confirm that you’re okay with the video being uploaded? I know you signed the contract with Cas but that was before you’d seen it and I wanna give you the chance to roll it back, only seems fair. You got the email, right, you’ve seen it now?”

“Huh? Oh, uh - yeah,” Dean lied. He’d seen the email come through from Hannah with an attachment, and had ignored it, assuming it would just be a copy of the legal documents he’d filled out. Probably for the best - if he’d seen the video, it would have only made him want them not to put it up, in all likelihood. “Yeah, it’s great. Go ahead.”

As soon as he’d said the words, he cursed himself. He could have said he wasn’t happy, bought himself some more time to tell Sam. But who was he kidding, he thought, as Jody nodded and looked away. He’d only spend that time chickening out all over again.

“Awesome,” Jody said. “Alright. Get up on that stage. I don’t need you to sing yet, I just wanna walk you through your paces on the stage so that you don’t have to think about it twice on the night. I want it seamless, okay?”

“Seamless,” Dean said, making for the stage. “Got it.”

He slung off his coat and threw it over the back of one of the seats along the aisle. There was a set of stairs off to the right, but Cas was standing up above him and watching him come closer; Dean put the box of donuts down on the very front of the stage and set his palms flat, jumped, levered himself forward with his arms, and easily hopped to his feet up on the boards beside Cas.

“Hey,” he said to the figure in the mask.

He heard an impressed whistle from behind them.

“Cool,” Jody said. “Next time, do a flip.”

“Hello, Dean,” said Cas. The mask looked back at Dean, and Dean wished he could step closer and slide his fingers behind it, lift it up, find the smile that he could hear in Cas’ voice underneath.

“Alright, Dean, stage right, please,” Jody said. “Nope, that’s stage left. Stage right, there we go. That’s where you’ll be on the night, in the wing, there. I’ll be with you if I can, but if anything goes wrong for any reason, just stand there until you hear yourself announced and then get out on that stage, okay?”

“Announced?” Dean called from the wing.

“Yuh-huh. Wait for it. Castiel will show you in a second. Okay, so we’ll have run the VT showing the audition, blah blah blah - Castiel, could you get behind your mic, honey - right. And Dean, you’ll hear Castiel say…”

“Everyone, we’re lucky enough tonight to be joined by an up-and-coming star, one of your own from Austin,” Cas said, sounding sleek and professional and confident - his Castiel voice, Dean thought to himself. “Can we get a huge welcome for Dean Winchester!”

“Woo!” yelled a voice from one side that Dean thought might be Donna, though he hadn’t heard her come in. He walked out onstage, feeling suddenly goofy and clumsy; he headed to stand beside Cas, but Jody was waving her hand to his left.

“Mic stand,” she said. “Mic stand - there you go, and you’ve got your mic. Now Castiel gives the signal, the band will kick in, you’ll sing - and you both know your song, right? You rehearsed it on Monday?”

“Yup,” Dean said. There was an ever-deepening pit of nerves in his stomach. Somehow, just being up here behind the microphone again made it real; he was actually going to have to go up onstage in front of thousands of people, and sing into a microphone just like this, and it was going to have to sound good, and -

“Hey,” Cas said, and he lifted up his mask, and peeked out at Dean from under it.

Dean couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

Dean’s smile was widening.

“Hey, yourself,” he said.

“Do you come here often?” asked Cas, and Dean ducked his head to hide the fact that the question had sent a quick hot wave of flushing happiness through him.

“Put that mask back,” Jody said, but not too sternly. “Alright, Dean, let’s say the song’s over. Castiel says…”

“Dean Winchester, everybody!” Cas said into his microphone; Dean could see Donna, now, as she clapped and whooped out at the far left of the little theatre’s seating, a crowd of one.

“And you exit stage left… there we go,” Jody said, as Dean clomped across the stage to the wings. “No lingering on stage, no showing off. Cas has six more songs after yours, so don’t hold the show up. And that’s it! Simple, right?”

“Simple enough,” Dean said, poking his head back around.

“Great. Awesome. OK, I’m gonna go make sure this video gets uploaded. You two rehearse. I’ll be back in an hour to see how you’re sounding. No talking,” she said sternly. “I’ll know if you’re not singing. Donna, honey?”

“Coming!” Donna got to her feet and they both headed towards the door on the left that led backstage; on her way past, Donna reached into the donut box and swiped one of the pink ones. She gave Dean a thumbs-up and he grinned at her before she hurried after Jody.

“Okay,” Cas said, tearing off the mask, his hair ruffled as he threw it down to the floor. “I thought today we could go over some basic mic technique to start with. Maybe some breathing technique, too. It’s one thing knowing the song, but being able to sing it into the mic and have it sound right is a thing on its own, so I thought I could give you some tips.”

“I’m ready,” Dean said, and went to stand by his microphone, wrapping his hand around it.

“Okay. So, to start with, you’re going to want to hold it so that your hand isn’t touching that switch, right there. Always have a quick check to make sure you aren’t even slightly close to accidentally turning off your microphone. Next…”

Dean let Cas’ teaching wash over him, following his tips and pointers while half his brain was lost to its own thoughts - a kind of endless cycle of the video, Sam, the concert, and occasional pit stops along the way to pause and think about the shape of Cas’ smile, or the size of his shoulders, or the expressions in his eyes that were slowly starting to become familiar. And because they were texting so much, Dean was getting to know Cas’ humour, and his taste, and what sparked his interest - Dean thought about that, too, thought about writers and frozen yoghurt and Batman, and then he was back at Sam, back at the video, back at the concert.

“You’re doing well,” Cas said, as Dean sang out a few lines and it reverberated through the space, finally getting his breathing just right and feeling confident about how he was standing after around an hour or so of pointers.

“Thanks,” Dean said.

“You seem distracted,” Cas said bluntly, but not unkindly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine,” Dean said automatically - and then Cas didn’t say anything, just looked at him with his head on one side, and Dean sighed. “I’m just worried. I didn’t speak to Sam yet. Obviously. I mean, I was literally texting you about this earlier. I’m just, like, I know I should have done it, but I just…”

“Dean, if you’re not ready - maybe I can still get them to stop the -” Cas said, sounding concerned.

“No,” Dean said firmly. “I know this is the right thing. I just gotta stop thinking about it and do it. Giving me more time to think won’t help, I just gotta… yeah… _do_ it.”

“Easier said than done,” Cas commented. He was standing just far enough inside Dean’s space for the conversation to feel intimate, but far enough that they weren’t going to touch; for a moment, a wild thought sprang into flame in Dean’s mind, and he was picturing stepping right up to Cas and sliding his hand through Cas’ hair as Cas pulled him closer, and -

He looked down at his feet. The image of that kiss was something he carried with him everywhere. He could feel it like furnace coals rippling blue-white in the blaze when they stood this close together. He wanted, he wanted, he _wanted._ If he wrote down how he felt, now, maybe in a couple of thousand years’ time, some guy would sit in his apartment and be like, _wow, Dean Winchester was a real person who wanted to touch and kiss, who burned with it. He seems so real and alive._ Maybe he could be the next Catullus.

He remembered the song that he’d sung about Cas - _is that creepy, or are you a squid -_ and thought, then again, perhaps not.

“Anyway,” Dean said, reaching for a way to move the conversation forwards. “Shall we keep practising? I think I got it, just -”

The door down to the left burst open; it swung back so far on its hinges that it smacked into the wall behind it. Dean jumped, and Cas moved instinctively forwards, towards the noise, frowning - and then both of them relaxed their shoulders when they saw Jody walking briskly to stand down by the front of the stage, holding a laptop in her hands and wearing an expression of slightly harried excitement. She had colour in her cheeks, and she held out the laptop screen-first.

“What’s going on?” Cas demanded, stepping over to take the laptop. Jody looked over at Dean, her eyebrows raised.

“A certain someone has been a big hit,” she said cryptically.

“Uh,” Dean said, taking a hesitant step forward to stand at the front of the stage a little way to the left of Jody, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Over half a million views across all platforms in an hour. Half a _million,_ ” Jody said. “It’s not even a music video and it’s going viral. And look at the comments.”

Dean watched, his heart starting to beat faster, as Cas squinted down at the screen.

“Yeet,” he read, sounding confused.

“Not that one,” Jody said impatiently. Dean didn’t go and peer at the comments over Cas’ shoulder; whatever it was people were saying, good or bad, he didn’t feel ready to hear it. Half a million people - that figure was too big to even begin to sink in.

Dean sat down at the edge of the stage, legs dangling. In front of him, Cas handed the laptop back to Jody.

“I don’t read my comments,” he said. “You know that.”

Half a million people now knew his name? Knew what he sounded like when he sang? Knew he was going to be singing again, at a sold-out concert, in a week and a half?

“Right. Sorry. It’s all good stuff. They _love_ Dean.”

Dean was glad he was sitting down. He felt his heart swoop and swerve in his chest at the mention of judgement of any kind, even appreciation. His breathing was speeding up. Half a _million?_

“Of course they do.”

“Everyone is so excited to see him. Like, _so_ excited. I’ve been getting emails asking if Dean would want to do two songs instead of just one from the venue’s PR team and from Garth at the office, because their Twitter feed and the official Castiel Twitter feed are blowing up. People are requesting it left, right, and centre. And it’s been...” Jody checked her watch. “Just under an hour since we uploaded.”

Dean could feel his chest tightening. Half a million views, how many tweets did that mean were happening? Dean didn’t even have a Twitter, but he knew word travelled fast on there. The video was going to keep growing if people were talking about it. Everyone was going to know who he was and that he sang, and -

He swallowed, and tried to calm his breathing.

“Jody?” Donna’s voice echoed down the hall from backstage. “Jodes. You will not believe.” She stepped out into the main theatre, looking down at her phone. “People have started an honest-to-god petition. There are two thousand signatures so far calling for Dean to do the finale song with Castiel, too.”

“Be Alive?” Jody said, frowning. “I mean, but we have it all scheduled…”

“Actually, I was thinking of switching up the setlist,” Dean heard Cas say, as though from far away. His head was starting to spin. “I want to do the cover song last.”

_Half a million._

“Not end with one of your own?” Jody said sceptically. “Why do you want to end with the Bublé cover?”

“I don’t,” Cas said. “I want to switch out _Haven’t Met You Yet._ There’s a different song I want to cover and I want to do it last. If Dean wants to be onstage, then that would fit in perfectly. Dean?”

Dean heard Cas turn, and tried to lift a cheerful, put-together expression to look up at him, but it wouldn’t come; he felt as though he’d been pushed out a plane, all his blood rushing, his heart pounding. The theatre around him was blurring and unblurring in soft waves.

“Uh,” he said, and couldn’t figure out what to say next.

“Are you alright?” Cas asked, looking concerned.

“Yeah,” Dean said, trying to sound confident. “I just - whoa -” The room dipped and spun, blackness eating at the edges of his vision, and even sitting on the floor he felt himself start to tip sideways and fall. He caught himself with a hand, and blinked. “No, I’m okay, I just, uh -”

“Crap,” Jody said, vaulting onto the stage. “Donna, honey, water. Cas, help me get him further back, away from the edge.” She came and crouched beside Dean. “Deep breaths, Dean. It’s okay. I know this must all be a shock.”

“I’m fine,” Dean mumbled. “Really, I don’t need anything, I just -”

“It’s okay, just focus on breathing.”

A big, warm hand was taking his own, and another hand was under his elbow, gently encouraging him to move back.

“I’ve got you,” Cas said, as Jody put a hand under his arm on the other side. “Come on, let’s move you back a little bit.”

“I’m okay,” Dean insisted, though his legs were wobbly under him when he tried to put weight on them, and he was glad of Jody’s wiry strength and Cas’ effortless support. He shuffled himself backwards with very little grace, and then Jody’s hand on his shoulder guided him to put his head ower, between his raised knees.

“Are you sure that’s necessary? I read that you only need to do that if the faintness is caused by low blood pressure,” Cas said, his voice a low rumble. All Dean could see was the denim knees of his jeans and the wood of the stage floor. Everything felt wavy and full of movement and too big, somehow. Cas’ voice was like a rock in the waves.

“Hush,” said Jody.

“No... it’s helping,” Dean said. His mouth felt as though it were full of cotton.

“Oh. I must have read wrong, then,” Cas said. “Or maybe shock causes low blood pressure.”

“No, I mean, you talking is helping,” Dean said. He felt muzzy, full of static, every moment punctuated by the thud of a too-loud heartbeat.

There was a second of silence above him, and then Cas said,

“In that case, I’ll, uh, keep talking?” There was a pause. “What shall I talk about?”

“Whatever, man,” Dean said, his own voice sounding like it was coming from another room. He didn’t feel like the person saying what he’d said. _Half a million._ He was going to get so much crap for this. People he didn’t know were going to be leaving hate comments, he’d seen it happen on the internet before. The guys at work were all going to see the video. And they’d be seeing him singing an Adele song, a cappella, while staring deep into the eyes of an international pop sensation who happened to be a dude…

He was screwed. He was outed to everyone. Sam was going to see the video and be disgusted. He was so, so, so screwed. God, and he’d thought the video would get a few thousand views. Who cared about some random people that Castiel had sung with? Who cared enough to watch a whole video about them? No one, he’d thought, like an idiot.

_Half a million._

“Cas,” he said, because he didn’t know what he needed, but he definitely needed something other than to listen to the pounding panic inside his head.

“Talking. Yes. Okay. Let me think. Well… so, your singing sounded good today.” Cas sounded awkward and stilted, but the sound of his voice was bringing things back into focus. “Actually, it would probably be more helpful not to talk about singing or anything like that right now. Uhm…”

“Christmas is coming up,” Jody said helpfully.

“That’s right,” Cas said, sounding relieved. “I believe you told me you’re going over to your brother’s house for Christmas, Dean. That sounds wonderful. I hope you already have gifts all bought. I read somewhere once that you should always try to buy your Christmas gifts in January, because everything is cheaper then. I always think that then you have them just sitting in your house for a year, which is fine if it’s something only they would like, but what if you really like the thing, too? The temptation would be huge. Or what if it’s, say, uh… some socks, and then one day you wake up and you can’t find any socks because they’re all in the laundry, so you dip into your Christmas gift store once, and then again, and before you know it… all the socks are gone? And you have to buy more again in December? It seems like a system that could easily fail, to me.”

Dean lifted his head. He took a deep, long, slow breath, and then looked at Cas.

“Are you okay?” said Jody. They were both crouching down beside him, one concerned face on either side. Dean could feel embarrassment opening up its familiar arms, ready to welcome him into its shameful embrace.

“Yeah,” he muttered. Things had stopped swirling quite so much. “If you were gonna have to buy the socks for yourself anyway, you haven’t really lost anything by giving them a chance to be Christmas presents first, have you? Might as well, because maybe you make it all the way through the year without losing all your socks. It’s like a sock investment.”

Cas nodded seriously.

“I hadn’t seen it from that angle,” he said, no smile on his face but definite humour in the tone of his voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Dean said, not quite truthfully. He felt as though he’d managed to claw his way to the top of a ledge that he’d slipped off into a deep chasm, and now he was on solid ground again, but the chasm was still there behind him. “I don’t even know what happened…”

“Just your run-of-the-mill garden-variety panic attack,” Jody said, “probably.”

A panic attack? Dean had never had one of those in his life. Well - there was the time he’d felt this way when he’d heard the news about his parents’ crash, and there was the time he’d got short of breath right after Sam had told him that he was leaving home, but -

Damn. Maybe he’d had a couple.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered. “I really don’t do this - much - I just…”

“The first time I uploaded a video, I was sick twice,” Cas said calmly.

“Really?”

“Yes. It got a grand total of eight views and it was terrifying.”

“Sorry for just bursting in here and freaking you out,” Jody said, patting Dean’s knee. “Hey, hey - keep breathing slow.”

Just the mention of a video had made Dean’s heartbeat tick up again; he consciously slowed his breathing and closed his eyes. There was the sound of footsteps, and then a glass of water was being gently nudged into his hand. He took it, but didn’t drink.

“Christmas,” Jody said bracingly. “We were talking about Christmas.”

“Gotcha,” said Donna’s voice, from above Dean; he opened his eyes to see her standing with her hands on her hips, looking worried - but when she caught his glance, she made sure to smile brightly. “Well, we’re going home this Christmas, aren’t we? All the way back to Vermont.”

“You, uh… you got family there?” Dean said, trying to focus on her and on the question.

“Sure do. Just a ragtag bunch we call family, anyway.”

“You should go with them,” Dean said to Cas, looking over at him; Cas’ eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head just a little.

“Oh, Castiel is going back to Alaska,” Jody said. “First time in a long time.”

“He is?” Dean said. He frowned. The room came fully back into focus, everything suddenly sharp and clear. That didn’t make sense. Cas had told Dean himself that he wasn’t going back to Alaska, and he wouldn’t ever want to, because he didn’t get on with his family there. He’d said it on the first night they’d met, that he’d be spending Christmas alone.

“Yep,” Donna said cheerfully. “Usually we all just spend Christmas on the road together, but this year Castiel said he wanted to go back to Alaska. So we said, well, fine, we’ll go back to Vermont, I guess.” She beamed at Cas, who smiled back at her, though Dean could see the tension in the tightness of his jaw and the lines on his brow. When he looked back at Dean, there was a slightly pleading edge to his expression. A half-moment of silent communication passed between them.

_Don’t tell them I’m not really going to Alaska. Please._

_Uh… OK?_

“Sounds like you’re all gonna have a lot of fun,” Dean said slowly, and the relief from Cas was palpable. Dean took a sip of water, and realised that Donna had put lemon in it. He swallowed, his face screwing up in confusion, and looked down at the neat slice floating in the glass.

“I thought it might help if it tasted nicer,” Donna said, sounding uncertain. Dean wanted to laugh - there was something so ridiculous about being served ice-cold water with a hint of lemon to get him through an extremely undignified panic attack - but instead, he just said,

“Thanks. Sorry about that. You didn’t have to go to the trouble…”

There were general noises of dissent from Cas, from Jody, and from Donna; all three of them fussed and shook their heads.

“If you’re performing with us then you’re part of the family,” Donna said. “Simple enough.”

“Well… thanks,” Dean said, equally touched and embarrassed.

“I think that’s enough rehearsals for today,” Jody said, standing up, and Cas followed her lead. “I was listening in earlier and you sound great. Let’s leave it for now. We can do one more after Christmas, maybe, if you think you need it - but I really don’t think that you do. Unless you do wanna join in with that last song.”

“Uh,” Dean said, trying not to let his thoughts linger on the concert or singing, or any of it. “I’ll think about it, if that’s cool. Well, I… thanks again for, uh…” He made to get his feet, wobbled, and found three pairs of helping hands all reaching for him; he made it upright, holding the lemon water awkwardly. He took a big gulp of it, just to make it feel like Donna hadn’t wasted her time making it. The lemon did taste good, he thought, in a fancy-schmancy kind of way.

“Thanks for the water,” Dean managed to finish, as he steadied himself. _Come on, Winchester. Pull it together._

“Not a problem,” Donna said, reaching out her hand to take the glass back. “You gonna be OK getting home?”

“Oh, yeah. No problem.”

“You’re sure?” Jody said, her gaze piercing.

“Really,” Dean insisted. Their concern was embarrassing. “I’ll be okay.”

“Well, then. We can all clear out. Donna, honey, can you help me pack up the things in the car? Castiel, you comin’ with us back to the hotel, or…”

“I’ll get a taxi again, I think,” Cas said. “I don’t want to squeeze in next to the equipment. My coat’s in the lobby, I'll go out the front. I’ll text you about the final song in the setlist, alright?”

“Yeah,” Jody said. “Let me know. If it’s one the band already know…”

“We jammed it a couple of months ago, but it didn’t feel right to put in the show at that point, so we didn’t work on it any more than that.”

Dean was hovering, aware that he wasn’t a part of the conversation, but also feeling like it would be rude to just walk away and leave. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still feeling a little heady on the come-down from his panic.

“Okay. Well, it sounds like you’ve thought about it, at least. I wanna hear it before you sing it on the night and it’s gotta be good, okay, or we’re doing the Bublé and that’s that.”

“It’ll be good,” Cas said. He looked at Dean, and smiled. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, struck by the tinge of domesticity to the question; for a second, he could make-believe that they were going to be leaving together, heading home together, making some food together, planning a nice night in. The flash of imagining was like a split-second firework burst that he quickly pushed away. “Yeah, let’s go. Thanks again, guys.”

“Don’t even mention it.” Jody clapped his shoulder as she turned to go. “You’re doing great, Dean. See ya after Christmas. Have a good one.”

“You too - happy holidays, guys.”

They parted, Donna and Jody heading backstage and Dean following Cas down the stairs and out towards the lobby, snagging his coat and the box of donuts on the way. They passed Hannah in the lobby, who gave them both a little wave.

“Do you want me to ride with you back to the hotel?” they asked, and Cas shook his head.

“Thanks, Hannah, I’ll be fine,” he said, retrieving his coat from behind the front desk and pulling it on. “I’m just going to get a taxi. No one’s outside, are they?”

“Not a soul,” Hannah said. “Probably because it’s freezing cold today.”

“I thought you were from the North,” Cas said drily, and Hannah cracked a smile.

“I know. All this time on the road in heated trailers has made me go soft. Suddenly fifty degrees is feeling like thirty.”

“At least it’s Christmas,” Dean said. “It feels like it should be cold at Christmas.”

Hannah’s expression was kind enough when they looked at him that Dean thought they must have somehow already been told about his panic attack; embarrassment loomed again, but they sounded normal enough when they said,

“True. But Christmas isn’t really Christmas without some good snow. Castiel knows all about that - you’re going to have a snowy one this year in Alaska, aren’t you?”

Cas’ smile was tight again.

“Absolutely,” he said. “See you later, OK?”

“I’ll just grab my things and follow on back to the hotel,” Hannah said, turning away. Cas headed out of the lobby and into the cool air; Dean tried to pull on his coat as they stepped out, struggling with the donut box until Cas wordlessly took it from him.

“Thanks.” He pushed his arms into the coat and zipped it. “So, uh… Christmas in Alaska, huh?”

Cas shuffled his feet. “They always insist on staying with me, because they know I’m on my own if they don’t. But their family in Vermont never gets to see them that way. And Hannah never gets to go back to New York, Garth never goes back to California. I just thought… I don’t know. I feel bad about lying.”

Dean held out his hand to take back the donut box as he spoke; Cas reached inside and took one before surrendering it. He bit into it as he finished his sentence, leaving a big smudge of powder across his top lip. Dean considered using his thumb to wipe it off, using his lips to kiss it off, taking Cas’ hand to use _his_ thumb to wipe it off, and then decided every option was a bad option and it would be better to leave it.

“That’s… nice, though,” Dean said. “You’re giving them a Christmas at home with their families. That’s really… that’s good, man.”

And it also meant that when Cas was alone this Christmas, he would be spending Christmas alone possibly for the first time. He’d be used to having his makeshift family all around him, and this year he’d have no one.

“I’d better call a taxi,” Cas said, through a mouthful of donut. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone; for a second, Dean hesitated - and then the words were spilling out of his mouth on a wave of sudden bravery.

“I can take you back,” he said. “I’m not in a hurry.”

“Oh, I - no, I couldn't ask that,” Cas said, and in his voice Dean could hear a pleased edge, and he realised that Cas had been hoping for this, and that thought made it feel quite suddenly as though his chest could explode with happiness.

“Really,” Dean said. “It’s OK. I can just drive you.”

“It’s all the way out across the river,” Cas warned, though without a lot of apparent resolve.

“Really? Thought you’d be staying at the Hilton or something.”

“I prefer the nondescript places. No one looks for me there. And I don’t need a big suite, and I definitely don’t need to be giving billionaire owners of fancy hotel chains any more money than they already have.”

“Fair. Fair. Well, as it happens, I live across the river, so it works out just great. We could even stop by.”

 _No,_ Dean’s brain said to him. _Nooooooooooo._ Why had he said that? Coming on way too strong, and now Cas would be freaked out, and -

“At your home? I’d love to,” Cas said, and he actually sounded sincere, too. “I never get to stay anywhere for long, I love seeing people’s actual homes. Not to make you feel like a zoo animal…”

“As long as I can be a tiger, I’m cool with it,” Dean said. He smiled, panic all forgotten, riding on the disbelieving high of somehow having managed to successfully invite Cas over to his apartment.

“Hmm. Maybe more of a lemur.”

“Lemur?!”

“Narwhal, perhaps.”

Dean led the way over to his car, Cas walking beside him.

“Okay, so what are you?”

Cas thought for a second.

“A wombat,” he said, and Dean laughed.

“No, c’mon. More like a dragon or something cool like that.” Dean tried to say it offhand, he really did, and he hoped it sounded casual.

“A dragon?” Cas said, sounding pleased, and then tempered it with, “But a little one. With wings that are a weird shape.”

Dean snorted. “Nah, c’mon. You’d have, like, the biggest wings, all elegant and shit.” He opened the passenger door and held it open for Cas to get in.

“Thank you.” Cas stepped into the car. Once he was inside, before Dean could close the door, Cas looked up at him and said, “Do you have snacks at your place? I’m hungry.”

Dean thought about the full box of donuts in his hands, and thought about the cupboard brimming with cookies and candy and popcorn and cake at home - and then he thought about the possibility of spending more time with Cas, and he said thoughtfully,

“Well… we could make a stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a long long boi but I didn't want to break it up!! I've been having a lovely sunny week that's far too full of things, but hey, sun!!! The sun is out!!! Summer peeks its head up over the wall of cloud, and it's like, what's up put on some suncream your complexion is very prone to burning and you'll morph into a hot tomato if you don't. What a friendly and helpful season it is. I hope you've all been enjoying yourselves and had a good one too! <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!! Here it is: one update, hot out of the oven. Mmm delicious. Pls enjoy so tastey hot. The next chapter will be up in one week on Friday 14th. I hope you all have a good one!!

Dean grabbed a basket, and they headed inside the store. All around them, people were chattering to each other and pushing past on their way to their cars, swinging heavy bags of groceries; Dean, a couple of steps inside, came to a sudden halt and frowned.

“Hey,” he said. “Is this, like… safe for you?”

Cas looked over at him, and raised an eyebrow.

“Of course,” he said.

“Should we at least let Jody know where we are?”

“I already texted her,” Cas said, waving his phone. “But it’s fine. No one knew I was at the Ground Floor anyway, so we weren’t followed here. And no one knows what I look like.” A teenager in a hoodie gave Cas an odd look as she passed.

“Okay. Okay, cool.” Dean set aside his misgivings, and they walked further into the store. Cas was walking with a kind of giddy purposefulness and Dean followed his lead, heading past the fruits and vegetables and the dairy section. The lights above were garishly bright and there were no windows, giving the place the usual unreal and timeless feel. Children were squawking and parents were hushing and teenagers were laughing in big groups and dead-eyed college kids were walking past like zombies swinging baskets full of instant noodles, and Cas seemed utterly unbothered by all of them.

He marched them to the aisle with cookies and cakes and other snacks, and began pulling packets off the shelves.

“I love these,” he said. “Oh, and these.”

"Real healthy eater, huh?"

"I'm out of Jody's range. That means I can ruin my diet."

"Oh, man. You're gonna get me in trouble again." Dean watched him, holding onto the basket as it got heavier with sugary snacks. "Didn't think Jody would care much about your diet."

"It's not about the look," Cas said absently. "It's my charity, Eat Up. It's all based around healthy eating options for people who'd otherwise be eating junk food for convenience or financial reasons. I generally feel bad if I don't stick to a good diet too."

"And Jody…"

"Personifies my conscience like usual, yes. But one day off won't hurt." Cas pulled some more cookies off the shelf. “These look good - oh, no, wait. They’re cherry flavour.”

“That’s bad?”

“I’m allergic,” Cas said absent-mindedly, putting them back. “Okay, these are better. Chocolate and more chocolate.” He threw them in the basket, and then headed further down the aisle.

And as he followed, Dean allowed himself a moment - just _one_ moment, only one - to dive deep into the picture that had been bashing on the door of his brain since they’d first walked into the store together. For a second, he let himself imagine that he and Cas were together. Walking down this aisle as a couple. Just on a casual shopping trip to pick up snacks before heading home to their shared apartment. They’d been doing this for years, this was so normal. Cas being here was familiar and reassuring but still somehow incredibly exciting - and they made each other feel so wanted and so special, and it all came so easily, and...

Cas turned around, holding up a packet of Oreos, and Dean snapped himself out of the imagining.

“Yes?” Cas said, waving the blue shiny packet. “No?”

“Always yes to Oreos,” Dean said, trying to sound normal, and like he hadn’t just been picturing them doing this exact same thing but five years down the line when they were a couple and on their way home to watch _Dr Sexy_ reruns. Cas smiled, and threw them in the basket - and as he did so, his phone dropped out of his other hand and clattered to the floor. He looked embarrassed; before he could stoop down to pick it up, Dean found himself bending down on one knee and scooping it off the floor, straightening and offering it to Cas carefully. He felt like a knight retrieving a maiden’s fallen kerchief.

“My Lord,” he said with a grin and a little mock bow, to satisfy the feeling.

Cas looked down at the phone and took it, and then glanced up at Dean with a touch of charmed shyness.

“Thank you,” he said, just a shade quieter than normal.

They walked on down the aisle and then crossed into the next one, discussing whether they should get savoury snacks or stick with the cookies, and debating whether they should pick up some fruit to counteract the amounts of sugar they were preparing to ingest, or possibly even something more nutritious and substantial, an actual meal - possibly too ambitious, Cas said. They were zigzagging back and forth across the store in a gentle meander as they lazily declined to make up their mind in any kind of hurry. After a full hour, they had a basket full of sweet things, a box of grapes, and a pizza; Dean thought that would do it. They checked out, with Cas insisting on paying, and then left the store.

Dean had never been so happy to be walking across a parking lot with plastic bags cutting grooves into his hands in the cold. He couldn’t stop taking glances to his right, at Cas, who looked lit up from the inside, striding across the tarmac like it was a red carpet. Seeming to feel Dean’s eyes on him, he looked across, and Dean grinned at him.

“Okay?” he checked.

“Very,” Cas replied. “You?”

“Hell yeah.”

When they’d dropped the bags into the trunk of the Impala, Dean closed it up. They caught each other’s eyes, facing each other, just a foot or so of distance between them - and there it was again. There was that moment of tension, that shape of Cas’ hands and look in his eyes and tilt of his head, and they said _I want to kiss you._

Until he breathed out, turned away, and they didn’t anymore.

That was all that was missing from the scene, Dean thought, as Cas got into the car and Dean himself was left standing outside. Just the resolution of that tension, just the permission to like each other, just the concession to the profound romance of the moments like these that passed between them. It made his shoulders ache pleasantly, and his arms, and his chest, to think about how things built and fell and built again between them. It hurt, but it hurt like the sing of an engine revving when it needed to shift to a higher gear - it hurt with possibility, with overflow, with driving force and want and feeling.

It was probably for the best that they didn’t kiss here, anyway, Dean had to think. He glanced around the parking lot. No one was paying any particular attention to them, but if they were ever going to have a first kiss, it’d be a better memory to look back on if it wasn’t interrupted by whichever local bigot happened to be watching. Ugh. It put a cold feeling in his gut, even having to think about that kind of thing. It shouldn’t have to occur to him.

Dean got in the car. Cas had stolen a packet of cookies out of one of the bags, and was already digging in. Grabbing two, Dean shoved them both in his mouth without thinking and started the engine.

“Dean?”

“Mm?” Dean turned to look at Cas, realising too late that his cheeks were full of cookie and he probably had crumbs around his mouth. He blinked at Cas, who just watched him for a second - and then Cas’ shoulders seemed to relax, and his expression changed into something that looked almost like resignation, which Dean couldn’t understand.

“How far is it to where you live?” Cas said. Dean shifted the car into Drive, and put his foot on the gas.

“Not too far,” he said, and swallowed, cringing at himself. Maybe Cas had just realised that he was hanging out with a total dweeby loser, and he wanted to go straight back to his hotel. “You sure you wanna check out my place today? If you’re tired…”

“What? No,” Cas said, breezing past the graceful out that Dean had tried to give him. “That is… if you’re not tired, and it’s alright with you, I’d still like to come and see where you live.”

“Nah, man, I’m good,” Dean said, pulling out of the parking lot, and trying to disguise the pleased smile that was fighting to spread over his face. “Let’s do this thing.”

The drive was quiet. They fell into an easy kind of silence, neither of them feeling pushed to fill it with superficial talk or awkward chatter; Dean could tell that Cas was lost in his own mind somewhere, and let himself, too, be carried out by the tide of his thinking. He lingered over memories - Cas looking at him, holding up the packet of Oreos. Cas taking his phone back, looking bashful and pleased. Cas standing so close to him, hesitating for a long moment - and then moving away. In his head, Dean rewrote the scene; easily, perfectly naturally, he took Cas’ hand and laced their fingers together and swayed into his space and kissed him. Soft and sweet, like they’d been doing it for years; not lasting too long, because there was time for them to do this again, they could always do this again and again and again.

It was so easy to imagine, and his mind felt as though it were on fire with it.

Doubt crept in; he wondered for a moment whether Cas was sitting and thinking any of the same thoughts, or anything even similar. If he was the only one whose mind was going here - if Cas thought of the closeness between them as a budding friendship, something platonic, then spending time like this and picturing things like _that_ was only a surefire way to get himself badly hurt.

He looked over at Cas, just a half-glance away from the road - but it was enough to see Cas’ eyes flicker away quickly to stare out the window.

Cas had been watching him. The doubt slunk away, back into the darker recesses of his mind.

The Austin landscape slipped past the windows, feeling frail and unreal compared to the little world of the two of them inside the car. They weren’t talking, weren’t even looking at each other, but they were _about_ each other, right now. The way Cas’ hand clenched and unclenched on his knee, it was about them, Dean thought. The way his own thoughts were weighted, the way his hands tingled and buzzed on the steering wheel, the way he braked carefully and moved off again quickly, it was all about Cas and him. Like painting a picture, every action a brushstroke on their canvas.

It began to rain, and that was about them. The road was sheened over with mirror water, reflecting the brightness of the headlights, and that was about them. They were noisy art in motion; they were the upward splash of puddle-water thrown up by the tires, they were the rough roar of the engine. They were two people sitting in a car, and they were everything else, too.

When they sighed into Dean’s parking space beside his building, they both sat quietly for a few moments, as though unwilling to leave the painting and call it finished. Dean glanced over at Cas as the engine ticked, cooling down.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, yourself.”

“Do you come here often?”

“First time, actually.”

Dean smiled, and opened his door.

“Come on. I’ll show you inside.”

They grabbed the bags of food and headed across the sheltered parking lot, making for the stairs up to Dean’s apartment.

“Elevator’s been out of order for a month, now,” Dean said apologetically, leading Cas past it and beginning to climb the steps. “It’s just a few floors up.”

“Good exercise,” Cas commented. “Cardiac… cardio.”

“Something like that.” Dean led Cas up, feeling nervous and self-conscious and giddy with it. It was somehow coming home to him that he was leading Castiel, international superstar, up to his little one-bedroom apartment with the wallpaper that was peeling in the corner of the kitchen and the cracked sink in the bathroom. More than that, though, he was leading _Cas_ up there. The guy he’d met at the bar, the guy he’d gone to those auditions to find, the guy he hadn’t stopped thinking about for longer than ten minutes at a time since they’d met - right behind him, following him up the stairs.

Dean reached his front door, let out a breath to steady himself, and then put his key in the lock and turned. He looked back at Cas as he opened the door, and saw an expression of open curiosity and slight excitement on his face.

“It’s not much,” he warned, and pushed open the door.

Cas walked inside first, treading lightly, looking all around him as though he were Aladdin walking into the treasure cave for the first time. Dean followed his lead, peering about his own home with new eyes; he saw the neat stack of car magazines on the coffee table, the plain brown coasters, the mess of laundry on a chair in the corner that he hadn’t had time to put away this morning. He hadn’t planned on having a guest back to the place - it hadn’t even occurred to him as a possibility.

Cas turned to him, and his expression was slightly puzzled.

“How long have you lived here?” he said.

Dean shrugged. “About three years.”

“Oh.” Cas put down his share of the grocery bags, and headed further in. His face stayed caught in that slight frown, looking confused or put out, as Dean showed him further into the living area.

“Yeah, this is most of it,” he said. “Just the kitchen, bathroom, bedroom down there.”

“Ah.” Cas nodded. He still seemed vaguely perplexed. He was looking around the apartment as though there were something missing.

“What?” Dean said. Cas looked up at him.

“It just… it doesn’t feel…” Cas blinked thoughtfully. “It’s lovely,” he said. “But it doesn’t feel like it’s yours.”

Dean made a face of light disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Cas put his hand against one of the bare walls, flat against its surface. “I mean… I don’t know what I mean. I’m sorry if that was rude. It really is very nice.”

Not his? Dean stared around the apartment. Of course it was his. He had his car magazines because he liked cars, he had his coasters because he liked… using coasters. He had his laundry because… he liked… laundry?

There was nothing else in here to like, Dean saw suddenly. Something clicked into place in his head. What Cas had said made sudden sense, and put into words a feeling that he’d had, himself, for a while.

Dean let out a breath.

“Actually, I kinda know what you mean.”

Cas looked at him, standing in the centre of his lounge, his expression serious. Dean felt invited to go on, and took the opportunity, letting his mouth run away with what was on his mind before he could stop himself and overthink things.

“Like, this place, I’ve always wanted to put up some stuff in it, you know? Like, get some posters and frame ‘em for the walls, maybe get some, uh, some throw pillows or some shit.” He tried to say the words carelessly, like he barely knew the name for comfortable, tasteful accents to a room, let alone really wanted them - and then remembered he was with Cas, and shook his head at himself. “I dunno. I see things all the time that I wanna pick up and just have around. Books and plants, and this set of coffee mugs in pink and blue and purple… I just… you know, my brother comes and visits me here sometimes. I didn’t want…”

Dean stopped talking.

“Let’s get that pizza in the oven,” he said bracingly, gesturing Cas through to the kitchen, hefting his own share of the grocery bags in his hands. “Come on.” He led the way through, pushing open the door to the kitchen and leaving it wide open to try to hide the way the paint was peeling in that top corner. “It’s not much. But tomorrow or something when I text you like, hey, I’m in the kitchen making dinner, you can, like, picture it in your head. Exactly where I am and what it looks like.” He was rambling, filling up the quiet, as he pushed open the door to the kitchen. “Here we go. Fridge… oven… yeah, standard stuff.”

He began to unpack the groceries, and then remembered to turn on the oven, and then went back to the groceries.

“It’s nice,” Cas said. “I like your wok.”

“Would you say it… woks your world?” Cas’ face eased, and he shook his head in a kind of appreciatively exasperated acknowledgement of the pun. Dean smiled at him, watching as Cas went over to the fridge to look at the couple of things he had stuck on there. “That’s a postcard from Sam, when he went to Europe. Hey, I got soda if you’re thirsty.”

Cas, peering around the kitchen, shook his head. Dean could see him thinking, could see that he hadn’t let go of what they were talking about before - his apartment, how he’d decorated it. Or not decorated it, more accurately. He could have headed the conversation another way, brought up another topic, headed Cas off - but he bit back the impulse. He let Cas think, and then talk.

“You know,” Cas said softly, “your brother must know there’s more to you than this.”

Dean snorted, and turned back to unbagging the many, many packs of cookies that they’d bought.

“Yeah. He just doesn’t know that sometimes it involves sequins and feather boas.”

“I don’t know him. But if he’s anything like you, I don’t think he’d want you to live somewhere with so little of who you really are in it.”

Dean looked down at the floor.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he muttered. “It just seemed easier this way.”

“I understand,” Cas said, and the sincerity in his voice made Dean look up at him. He was looking across the room, not meeting Dean’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Sometimes it feels so much easier to just… not. You push things down and you convince yourself you don’t need to acknowledge that part of yourself, because it’s fine just being for you and yourself alone.”

Dean watched him, saying nothing. Cas looked half-lost to his own world as he spoke, his voice quiet but evenly paced, as though he were reading off a page. Dean wondered whether Cas had thought about this stuff before, to be able to talk about it like this, or whether his thoughts often sounded like this on the inside of his head: fully-formed, gently spoken, unfurling like a ribbon.

“Yeah?” he said, just a noise to let Cas know he was listening.

“You pretend to yourself that you’re just keeping it private, but deep down you know that really, you’re keeping it secret. There’s a world of difference. And you’re keeping it secret because you’re hoping to make it be not real. And when you try to convince yourself that a whole part of you isn’t real… and doesn’t matter, and doesn’t need to be shown to anyone or told to anyone, or really admitted even to yourself...” He trailed away. For a few moments, they stood in silence in Dean’s blank-wall apartment with only the hum of the oven for company, looking around.

“You end up like this,” Dean said. “Nothing on the walls.”

Cas nodded, still distant, buried in his own mind.

“And they’re very nice walls. But they’re not your walls.”

Dean swallowed. He picked up the pizza and held onto it, just for something to do. Part of him wanted Cas to stop, and part of him knew that he needed to hear this. How Cas knew all of this, saw it all so clearly, he had no idea.

“Who you are becomes what other people want to see. And nowhere is safe for you to relax and just be, without judging yourself, because part of your own mind is always acting the part of the people who you imagine might be judging you if they could see you. So you just pack it all away to avoid their imagined disgust.”

Dean looked down at the ground.

“It’s just easier,” he said.

“For you? Or for them?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently,” Cas said. He wasn’t looking at Dean. “A lot. And... I think that it’s always going to be more convenient for some people around you if you don’t be yourself. Because that way, they don’t have to acknowledge it or change their behaviour or do any thinking. We have to make all the effort instead, of hiding who we are enough for everyone around us to be able to ignore it.”

“Well… yeah. It’s easier sometimes for me, too,” Dean muttered. “Like, I don’t have to deal with any bullshit if people don’t know.”

“You don’t think it’s bullshit to have to hide who you are?”

Dean swallowed, hard. He began to unwrap the pizza, take it out of its cardboard box and protective plastic.

“C’mon,” he said. “You know what it’s like when you come out to someone and you can tell that you chose wrong, and they’re angry and they wish you hadn’t told them. Sometimes they’re being polite on the surface but you can tell. And something breaks. Like, yeah, it’s bullshit to have to hide, but it’s less bullshit than seeing someone you care about hating you or a part of you or whatever.”

“Telling yourself you have to hide, even in your own home, is _you_ hating you.” Cas looked at Dean, then, turned to face him. “Some people get to be themselves and show who they are without having to be brave. Without having to even stop to think about it. And we aren’t those people. And those people might not understand why it would be important for us to make ourselves real and understood and seen for who we are, with what we say and how we dress, and how we decorate our spaces…” He cleared his throat, and shrugged one shoulder, seeming to become suddenly self-conscious. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it. Sorry, I - like I said, I’ve been thinking about this a lot.”

Dean swallowed. Cas had been thinking about this a lot - but why would he be thinking about it? He was already out, publically, wasn’t he? He didn’t have to hide himself away, everyone knew that he was gay. Why would something like this be on his mind? Maybe he wasn’t out to his family in Alaska, but it seemed impossible that they wouldn’t have picked up just one of the many magazines where Cas mentioned in an interview that he was gay.

“I know,” Dean said out loud. “It’s just… it’s hard. Putting yourself out there, knowing how much you could lose.”

Cas nodded. His lips were tight, now, and his eyes slid away from Dean’s.

“I know,” he said. “But it can be worth it. It can change everything.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say. Everything that Cas was saying made sense - he agreed with all of it. But agreeing with it meant agreeing that things had to change, and that he’d have to do things and make decisions and - his stomach dropped - and call Sam.

Sam, who right now could be watching that music video and learning things about Dean that would be making him pull a face of disgust. Make him close the tab like he’d caught Dean doing something dirty. Make him call off asking Dean over for Christmas. Dean felt suddenly nauseous, the panicked feeling from earlier looming at his back, threatening to swallow him back down. Dean cleared his throat, wrenched his thoughts away.

Cas was here. He was lucky enough to actually have Cas in his goddamn apartment, and he wasn’t going to waste time getting himself into another mess of feelings. They had pizza and cookies. Everything else could wait for later. Whether Sam saw the video or not was out of his hands, anyway. It was just down to chance. What was real, what Dean could actually make a choice about, was whether or not he showed Cas a good time at his apartment, right now.

“This got deep,” Dean said bracingly, trying to navigate them back towards shallower waters. The oven beeped, up to temperature. Dean slid the pizza in, and closed the door. He turned to look at Cas, who was watching him with an understanding expression on his face.

“I’m sorry if it was too much,” Cas said.

“Nah, nah, it’s good. I never talk about this stuff. People always tell me I lock it down too tight.” _It’s different with you,_ Dean almost said, but he stopped the words escaping.

Cas was looking at him as though he’d heard them anyway. His face shifted, sharpening in a way that looked sort of pleased. The intensity between them, always taut enough to feel, stretched harder. Dean found himself not looking away and also not saying anything, letting the silence draw out. His eyes dropped to Cas’ mouth, and then he realised what he’d done a half-moment afterwards and looked back up, but Cas had seen. Dean could tell by the way his lips twitched slightly to one side. And now he was looking at those lips again, and there was static across his shoulders, pleasant pain, a good burn. If he walked across the kitchen now, if he just - if he put out a hand to ask for Cas’, or if he just leaned back against the counter and beckoned Cas over, would Cas come to him? Would he push up close in Dean’s space, press him back hard, put his hands on Dean’s back, on his arms, on his neck - would those lips of his find Dean’s with the urgency that Dean wanted from him? He could so nearly feel the friction of their bodies together, feel the warmth of Cas’ kiss, feel the stubble along Cas’ jaw and smell him and breathe him in, in, in -

Dean breathed out, and Cas’ stare broke. He blinked, and looked down at the floor. His expression, which had been so certain just a moment before, seemed to sink back into confusion.

With a little punch of disappointment in his gut, Dean realised that this wasn’t going to be the moment. Cas didn’t want it to be.

He tried to shrug his shoulders at himself, and couldn’t quite convince himself of his own wry indifference.

“C’mon,” he said, wanting to get them through the awkward moment. “Grab some cookies. Let me show you the rest of the place, at least. It’s all pretty much the same, but whatever. Bathroom’s in there.” Dean led him past it, and towards the bedroom.

As they went, Dean could feel some kind of tension from Cas - but not the good kind that he was used to, not the comfortable _will he won’t he_ ache that he realised had become familiar. Now, Cas’ hands were clenched tight into fists, and his jaw was set as Dean pushed open the door.

The bed wasn’t made, but at least there weren’t clothes on the floor.

“It’s got a pretty nice view,” Dean said. “You can see right down the street to the river. It’s nice when the sun’s setting.”

Cas was mute, his eyes fixed on the bed.

“Hey,” Dean said, “is everything…”

“Is that a guitar?” Cas asked suddenly - and Dean realised that he’d never tucked his guitar safely back under his bed, after he’d spent the other night singing to himself and making up that dumb song. The blood rushed to his cheeks, but Cas’ weird stiffness had evaporated, and Dean leaned into it.

“Well… yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it is.”

“Do you play?”

“Not much.”

Cas looked at Dean; he didn’t ask, but there was a hopefulness in his eyes that Dean didn’t even know how to begin to say no to. He walked across to the guitar, picked it up, and sat down on his bed. He strummed a chord.

“What do you want?” he said. “I don’t play much, uh…”

Cas came further into the room; Dean pushed his blankets so that they covered up his mattress for Cas to sit on, and then kicked off his shoes, crossing his legs up on the bed.

“Whatever you want to play,” Cas said.

Dean bit his lip, and started strumming a few random chords. What did he want to play? What did he dare play, to Cas? What would be too near the line that Cas didn’t seem to want to cross? All the songs that came into his mind were love songs, and more love songs, and more love songs.

He realised he was playing the start of the song he’d made up himself, about Cas. He shouldn’t play that one, he knew. It’d be incredibly dumb and revealing, and he didn’t need Cas to know about it -

_It’s just… it’s hard. Putting yourself out there, knowing how much you could lose._

_I know. But it can be worth it. It can change everything._

His own words from moments earlier came back to him, and in a moment - too quickly, far too quickly, a split-second of recklessness - he made his decision and started to sing.

_“Head in the clouds,_   
_And your feet on the ground._   
_Your voice out loud,_ _  
It’s my new favourite sound.”_

He sounded more confident, he realised. His rehearsals with Cas had made his voice sound surer, like he knew what he was doing. He didn’t look up at Cas, just kept playing the song the way he half-remembered he’d played it before. God, was he actually doing this? The guitar strings thrummed under his fingers. How had the next bit gone? Hadn’t it had something about blue eyes in it? Should he change it?

Fuck. He was already singing it. It was happening. _Fuck._

_“Look at your eyes,_   
_They’re the colour of blue._   
_Where should I be,_ _  
Yeah, right next to you.”_

He couldn’t take it back now. Like that first look at Cas, across the bar, when he’d sung the Adele song - like every time he sang with Cas around, really - he’d done something he couldn’t take back. Revealed himself in a way that couldn’t be hidden again. He kept his head low, kept playing. His heart was pounding, aching, and he put that twist of pain into the music, into his voice.

“ _Wish I could say_   
_All these things on my mind._   
_Am I moving too fast,_ _  
Will I leave you behind…”_

He breathed out, concentrating on keeping the chords on the beat. He only remembered doing one more good verse. Cas was still sitting next to him, and hadn’t gone running out of the apartment into the late-afternoon light and far away, at least.

“ _Head in the clouds,_   
_And your feet on the ground.”_ He put in a little solo guitar break, drawing it out. The song ending would mean having to look up at Cas, see his expression, know what he was thinking - good or bad. Part of him wanted to play, and play, and play.   
_“I swear with me, now,_ _  
You would be safe and sound.”_

The song wasn’t finished, had no chorus; the only thing Dean could do to round it off was let the last chord gently fade into silence. The strings hummed down to utter quiet. Outside, cars drove past, unaware that everything important in the world was happening here, in this moment, in this room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOOOOH suspense. I am bringing this chapter to you with love in my heart and also a blue-haired friendo at my side!! Thank you lovely natmoose for being here and for insisting on reading this chapter tonight (against all better judgement, perhaps this is another one of the crimes we have committed, along with luggage-leaving and walking up the wrong side of the stairs). I hope this week brings good friends and good times to everyone. Be well out there!! <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. What do we 'ave 'ere, Inspector? Looks to me like we've got ourselves an update. Cor blimey, 'as it really been a week already? I reckon it 'as. 'Ope you all enjoy!! Next one'll be up round about same time next week, sure as eggs is eggs!

The strings on Dean’s guitar were still, but the last note of the song still seemed to ring through the room. Dean was sat on his bed with his shoes off, staring down at his covers because he didn’t know where to look - or rather, because he knew exactly where he wanted to look, but he didn’t have the courage. He waited for Cas to say something.

And waited.

And waited.

The afternoon sun was dripping off both of their backs, thick like honey, dirty with the sounds of the city. Dean swallowed. Cas still wasn’t saying anything, and Dean’s stomach was slowly sinking lower and lower. He’d thought - he’d hoped -

He looked up. Met Cas’ eyes.

“Dean…” Cas said. And then he didn’t seem to want to say anything else. He turned away to stare at the floor, his eyes fixed on something that Dean couldn’t see - but it was something bad, from what Dean could tell. Something that was making the corners of his mouth turn down.

Dean’s hand, gripping the neck of the guitar, slipped on a sudden sweat; he was cold, though. His skin was rising up in goosebumps and he was sweating and Cas wasn’t moving - why wasn’t he moving? Or saying anything else?

Dean swallowed and it was so audible that he winced. Cas was so still as to be furniture.

The quietness was painful. Dean had to move them past it. He reached for something to say, anything.

“Anyway,” he managed, and his voice almost cracked on the word. He cleared his throat gruffly to pull himself together, pull it all back together, make the seconds rewind - shake the feeling that everything had changed. They could still be the Dean and Cas they’d been a few minutes ago, couldn’t they? It was still so close, the way that they’d been only moment before. This was just as if they’d taken a wrong turn, driven down the wrong street, and they only needed to go back and it would all be OK again. It could all be just fine, if only time would turn back. If only Cas would speak. If only he’d say any of the things that Dean had been hoping he’d say - that in the moment of deciding to sing that song, he’d been almost certain Cas  _ would  _ say.

Silence. Nothing but silence.

“Pizza must be pretty much ready,” Dean said, and it sounded lame - the realisation of what he’d done, what he’d sung, was swinging into him slowly like the kickback of a heavyweight pendulum. It hit his stomach first. He was so big and clumsy and he suddenly and desperately wanted to be alone. He wanted to be by himself, to deal with the fact that he’d done this - wanted Cas to be somewhere far away, somewhere he didn’t have to deal with Dean’s messy overspill of feelings, his clumsiness, his stupidity. 

Dean was too much, far too much. He’d actually forgotten for a while there, and he could only look at what he’d done and hate himself more with every passing second.

Cas was still wordless. Dean wanted to ask if something was wrong, but couldn’t manage to make himself do it because something so clearly  _ was _ very wrong. He turned his face away, hiding from Cas’ expression, his discomfort - hiding from the possibility of more hurt. The hurt was bound to come if Dean asked, and Cas told him out loud what Dean already knew: he’d done something that wasn’t wanted. Sung a song that had shown too much.

Dean didn’t want to hear Cas say that he didn’t think of Dean that way. He didn’t want to hear Cas say that Dean had misunderstood. He didn’t want to hear Cas say that the surreal swirl of excitement that Dean had been swept up in the past little while had been a fantasy, painted on his imagination with a brush made of wishful goddamn thinking.

Sitting with Cas, stuck in a silence that wouldn’t end, Dean knew those things. Knew all of them had to be true. He knew them, and he didn’t want to hear them out loud.

“Look,” Dean said, “you - do you wanna go? It’s OK if you do.” He tried to say it offhand, as though it were a totally normal question, as though Cas might just be tired or busy or something, not struck speechless by a stupid song.

Cas looked at him, then. Dean didn’t know what to make of the expression on his face. It was a thousand threads, knotted too tightly to unpick in the half-moment before Cas turned away.

“I - I think I - yes,” Cas managed, broken fragments of a sentence that were not better than the silence. It was the lostness in his tone of voice. The part of Dean that had been hoping this was all just a misunderstanding and Cas really did love the song but didn’t know how to say it, the part that was still holding out to be an optimist, froze over. Dean didn’t follow Cas as he got up and started to head out the bedroom door. He watched, though.

He couldn’t say goodbye to Cas like this. The feeling went through his chest before his mind could describe it in words. He didn’t know what was going to happen when Cas left, if this would all blow over or if it was going to be an ending - but either way, he couldn’t let Cas leave like this.

He watched Cas walking away, saw the mismatched slope of his shoulders and the tension in his tight fists.

Not like this.

“Hey,” he said, “wait. Uh.” He got to his feet, still holding onto the guitar. It felt stupid and awkward in his hands but somehow he couldn’t quite put it down. If he held onto it, if he could play a different song, if the moment wasn’t over and he could still fix things, if he were still goddamn holding the goddamn guitar, then he stood a chance.

Cas turned.

“If I just, uh.” This was too much. He couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t do this. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. That afternoon sun was warm on his back and somehow that was making things worse, too, making the cold in his chest feel colder. There was a little voice in his mind growing louder and more insistent and the only three words it seemed to know were  _ you fucked up, you fucked up, you fucked up. _

He didn’t want to hear it. The way that Cas was just standing there, and the sun, and the guitar in his too-big stupid clumsy hands - everything was all wrong.

“Are you…” he managed, battling on against the lump in his throat. This was horrible. This was just awful. This was his punishment for feeling like he could talk about things and get away with it. His punishment for imagining someone like Cas could be interested in someone like him. This was  _ terrible. _

Cas breathed out, loud enough for Dean to hear.

“It’s okay,” he said, his tone a concession to Dean’s struggle, a helping hand. Dean grasped it.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. It’s okay.” Now he sounded final, like he wanted it to be left alone. 

Dean was a bag of questions and embarrassments and swirling sickening doubts. Dean had a lump in his throat and a stupid guitar in his hands and, from the feel of the thing, some kind of shrapnel in his chest. Dean did not want to eat any pizza.

“I should go get the pizza,” he said out loud, and this time he managed to inject a more bracing attitude, and he put the guitar down on the bed and walked towards the kitchen. He went through the motions, retrieving the food and setting it on a plate, his back to Cas, who didn’t leave, but who said nothing.

Dean didn’t want Cas in his apartment. He wanted Cas a thousand miles away from him, where he couldn’t see Dean, couldn’t hear him, didn’t have to endure him. He wanted to say,  _ get away. Just get away from me. _

The words tasted familiar even though he’d never said them, as though he’d known all along that they would be coming. That it would have to end like this, with his clumsiness causing hurt and Cas having to leave.

“You can have a slice to go,” Dean said. He looked down at the pizza on the plate. Grease was sitting wetly on top of the cheese, pooling unappetisingly. He turned to face Cas and saw, over Cas’ shoulder, the peeling paint in the corner of the room behind the door. He felt Cas’ eyes on his own stupid face. Everything he had to offer Cas was shit.

“I’m - no, thank you.” Cas cleared his throat, and then he started to speak more fluently. “I’ll go back to my hotel now. And I’ll have Jody get in touch with you about the concert closer to the date itself, if that works for you. In the meantime, I suggest that you rehearse the song I selected until you have it perfect. If you require more practice with a microphone then please feel free to contact us, and we can set something up for you.”

It was worse by several thousand times with every word. Cas wasn’t Cas, now, he was Castiel; he was speaking to Dean in that faraway voice, charismatic and textured and polished, light years away from his usual low tone. It was smooth enough for Dean to slip on and break something. It hurt to hear.

“Right,” Dean said, his throat tight. This was goodbye. He could hear it, see it in every harsh angle of Cas’ body. Dean was the cheese on the pizza, congealing, repellent. He wanted to say a hundred things and none of them could escape.

Cas lingered for a moment longer. His body swayed closer; his eyes’ polite sheen fractured and splintered and creaked and - held. 

He swayed away. He nodded wordlessly, and turned, and left the kitchen.

Dean counted the steps to the front door.  _ One. Two. Three.  _ He didn’t know if he wanted Cas to come back or to be gone faster, to be safe from him faster.  _ Four. Five. Six. Seven.  _ The creak of the door, the shuffle of feet, and then a slam.

Gone.

He was alone. Cas was outside the door, walking down the steps and away.

Dean didn’t know what to do. The silence around him seemed so huge, so vast; he was so aware of being a single solitary point of consciousness in a room that was wide and bare and suddenly strange to him. He looked around, knowing that his eyes were big like a hurt child’s and his mouth was half-open as though stumbling for words, hands slightly raised as though searching for something to do, some way to make things right, some way to just somehow please turn back goddamn time and stop himself from ruining everything - ruining it all, like he always ruined it all, spoiled things, turned things sour, broke things.

He turned to face the counter and lifted up two fisted hands and slammed them down on the counter. It hurt, and it was a blessing to feel it in his hands instead of the place in his chest where he couldn’t reach. The goosebumps were still up on his skin.

He wouldn’t see Cas again. The thought sprung into his mind and he felt his stomach twist and revolt. Maybe he would still be allowed to sing in the concert, but he wouldn’t see Cas again. Only Castiel, behind the mask, shut away. He’d never see Cas’ face made soft by sunlight. He’d never see Cas’ smile. He’d never see Cas’ eyes, his solemn eyes, watching Dean. Never tell one of their in-jokes again. Never hear his voice blend with Cas’ in a way that mattered. Never think of him again without pain. He’d ruined everything. It was, somehow, all over. It was over. He’d just  _ had  _ to sing that stupid song and show Cas how he felt, and he’d ruined everything.

It was over. Cas was gone.

Sickness threatened. He slammed his fists down on the countertop again, and the noise that came out of him was raw and low, just a growl of a thing, just a wordless protest at being himself - with all the destined doom that came along with it. He wanted his hands on Cas’ hands. He wanted his lips on Cas’ lips. He wanted to crush Cas so close to him that neither of them could breathe. He wanted to sink into the floor. He was still staring around the silent space as though it could offer him answers or a way out, but there was nothing, no way out, no take-backs, no saving what he’d done.

He never wanted to talk to anyone again, ever, and he wanted to tell Cas everything, explain himself completely, and he wanted to close himself off utterly, and be totally understood, and it hurt so badly, and he was sick with himself for being like this over someone he’d known so little. Someone so new to him. Someone who, in the end, hadn’t felt what he had.

_ But it was different with him,  _ the little voice in his brain said.  _ It was different. _

“I know,” Dean muttered out loud, because there was no one around to care.

_It’s not surprising that it hurts this badly when you cared so much and so differently about him,_ the voice said. It threw him a picture along with the thought, this time. Him and Cas, dancing outside The Refuge, dancing in a way that - for all his nights spent partying and falling for people and moving to music - Dean had never danced before.

“I  _ know, _ ” Dean said.

There was a pause, a quiet.

_ Cas,  _ said his mind into the silence, desolate.

“I  _ know!” _ Dean growled, fists pounding the counter, his voice rough and raspy with frustration and pain and reckless overwhelming hatred with himself. It was all so small and so pointless, none of it mattered, and it mattered so  _ much -  _ Cas was upset, Dean had upset him and Cas was gone, whatever, who cared, Dean cared, and it hurt, and it was stupid, and there was nothing he could do, and it hardly mattered except it did and it did and it did, and, and, and. And it was over.

He needed a drink. Dean left the kitchen and headed for the door, searching for his keys as he went. He needed to be alone. Not at The Refuge. Somewhere no one knew his name and no one would pay attention to the loser getting wasted at the bar far too early. After a breakup - he snorted at himself at the same time as his eyes went horribly soft and pained, because this  _ was  _ a breakup, somehow this was his worst ever breakup and it was after a matter of days - after a breakup, he always drank. It was what people did. It helped.

He wanted to get drunk. He wanted to get incredibly drunk and call Cas, and Cas would come get him, and Cas would say  _ I’m sorry, I just remembered that I’d left the oven on in my hotel room, that’s why I had to go so suddenly,  _ and then Dean would say how he felt about Cas and Cas would say  _ oh, good, me too, _ and Dean would sling a heavy arm around Cas’ shoulders and everything would suddenly be right with the world, and -

No. No. He had to stop. Cas wouldn’t want him to be picturing this. Cas’ feelings about Dean had been made all too clear. He’d been visibly upset, struck dumb just by a song. Hearing Dean’s feelings said out loud would only make things worse. He wouldn’t respond in kind because that wasn’t how he felt. Dean even imagining it to try to soothe the aching cold inside him was wrong. It wasn’t fair, and Cas deserved to be treated fairly. Cas deserved so much that Dean couldn’t give. He deserved good friends who didn’t try to hit on him through songs and make him uncomfortable. He deserved happiness. He deserved safety. He deserved an apology.

The thought cut into Dean like a blade through the frozen waste of his chest.

An apology. That was something Dean could give him that wasn’t bullshit, and - hopefully - wasn’t something he wouldn’t want to hear.

Cas should know that Dean was sorry - that there was no pressure on him to ever speak to Dean again, that he hadn’t made a mistake to leave. He deserved to be spared any worry, wondering whether he’d done the right thing. Dean knew Cas didn’t care about him in the way that - in the same way that - Dean’s mind stumbled painfully, and couldn’t finish the thought. But Dean knew that Cas had cared for him as a friend, and that Cas would worry about not having done right by him. Cas was good like that. And Dean couldn’t let him worry, or think he’d done anything wrong.

This was Dean’s fault. He’d got swept up and carried away. He’d imagined things that hadn’t been there. He’d put those thoughts out there while Cas had been at his home, stuck in a private place - what if he’d gone silent not even just out of discomfort, but out of fear? What if he’d worried what Dean might do if Cas rejected him?

_ You fucked up, you fucked up, you fucked up. _

Cas shouldn’t be left in any doubt that this was on Dean.

He began to look for his keys with an urgency that the promise of a drink hadn’t afforded. Cas couldn’t have got far. When he saw a glint of silver, Dean seized for it and ran, not bothering to find the coat that he’d discarded. He was out the door, slamming it, heart thudding, desperate; Cas shouldn’t have to worry, it was the only thought in his head. An apology was all Dean could give him but maybe it would help. It was the only thing he could think of that might.

His stairwell was shudderingly cold but Dean was already iced through and didn’t feel it. He was running, going too fast. Cas would have ordered an Uber from outside his building, probably, or maybe walked a little way to get some distance before making the call - maybe there was still time. One flight of stairs down. Two flights of stairs down. He swung around the corner, his arm gripping the bannister to keep him tight to the stairway, make up time, be quick, and so the figure coming up the stairs took him by total surprise and he barely managed to grind to a stop before crashing directly into - into -

Cas.

Cas was on the stairs.

Dean stared at him stupidly. He was breathing hard and so was Cas, and they were close enough that Dean could feel his breath and he was sure Cas could feel his. Cas was one step below Dean, looking up at him. Neither of them moved. Cas’ face had lost that awful distance.

Cas was facing Dean. Cas had been walking  _ up.  _

“You were coming back,” Dean said, at the same time as Cas said,

“You were coming after me?”

“Yeah…” Dean said. He wasn’t moving away. Cas wasn’t moving away. They were so close. Dean knew he should step back, but Cas’ face wasn’t uncomfortable, it was - it was intense, it was -

“I wanted to say…” Cas started, and Dean couldn’t hold it in.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words tumbling out roughly. 

Cas stared.

“ _ You’re _ sorry?” he said.

“Yeah, I - I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, or unsafe, even, I don’t know, or - I’m just - I’m sorry.”

There it was again, that resigned look in Cas’ eyes. But it wasn’t a bad kind of resignation, Dean thought, and it was the last thought he had before Cas reached for him.

Cas’ movement was a surge, a natural wave; his hand was in Dean’s hair, he was pushing up, up, into Dean’s space, close enough to end the gaps between them, close enough that the wordless cold in Dean’s chest was subliming, was gone. Cas was waiting; he hesitated just a moment with his eyes open, and he breathed out as Dean breathed in; he was pressing their foreheads together, closing his eyes and then clenching them shut, and pulling the two of them tightly together with his hand, skin on skin, skin on skin, and then his lips found Dean’s.

It was urgent. It was so desperate, as though Cas couldn’t stand to be distant, couldn’t physically bear it. He drew Dean in close like air, their noses side by side and pressed, their lips not exploring or seeking, just holding and holding and holding as though everything hinged on their touch, on their togetherness, on them and them alone. Cas’ hand was at the back of his neck and their chests were flush and it wasn’t enough. Dean’s hands reached up to cup Cas’ face, keep him steady, hold them together. They were still and quiet in the empty stairwell with Dean’s heart roaring inside him, bursting with heat and demand, exploding with it. There wasn’t taste, or touch, or thought - there was only need, only terrible burning straining beautiful desperate desolate inexplicable unbelievable profound and aching need, all in a press, all in hands on skin, all in the passion and the insistence. It wasn’t a kiss, it was a casualty, it was a compulsion.

It ended when Cas pulled away, too far, taking a step back down.

Dean looked at him and knew his face had to be a picture. 

How was it - how was it  _ possible, _ for a guy like him to feel half of what he had coursing through him, right now? This was surely meant to be for - for gods, or for heroes, just for people with awesome destinies and great stories, not jobs at a garage and peeling paint in the kitchen. But he felt it. He felt it.

And Cas had done that. Cas had  _ felt  _ that. The need, the incandescent need, it had radiated off him like white light too hot to touch. Cas had felt like he needed that with Dean. He had felt like he needed  _ Dean. _

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Cas said, his expression unreadable. “Dean, I - I’m so sorry, I -”

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean said, and he reached out a hand, but Cas pulled away and stepped down another stair.

“You don’t understand,” Cas said.

“Cas, what - we just -”

“You don’t understand,” Cas said again. And then he turned away and walked down the stairs and left - and Dean could only stand open-mouthed, and watch him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> That's all I can really say about That. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'll see y'all next week! Sending lots of good wishes to you out there. <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, goodness gracious! Can it really be that time again? Be it Friday once more? Verily!! And so let the update fly free! The next shall be spotted 'pon Friday next, the 28th. Until then, lovely people!

Dean went after him. He couldn’t not. There was a part of him that thought it would probably be better to just let Cas go, just give them both some space, take some time and let the claustrophobia of the afternoon ease away - but that would mean going back upstairs and sitting in his apartment by himself, looking around at the empty walls.

He wanted to talk to Charlie and ask her what she thought was going on, but he knew exactly what she’d say:  _ I’m not a mind-reader, Dean. You need to ask Cas. _

So Dean went after Cas, again. Cas hadn’t got far, just outside Dean’s building where he was leaning against the wall. He met Dean’s eyes, and somehow he looked surprised, as though he hadn’t expected Dean to follow him this time; he didn’t have his phone in his hand, didn’t seem to have made any move to call a taxi or get away. He was only standing up against the building, and he looked so much like he was carrying something impossibly heavy in that single moment that Dean briefly wondered if it was the building holding him up, or if it was the other way around.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, to break the silence. He bit his lip because he was thinking about the kiss, the kiss, the kiss. The press of Cas against him, the desperation of it.

“Hello, Dean.”

It felt like the wrong time for a  _ do you come here often,  _ but Dean was thinking it and when he caught Cas’ eye, he knew Cas was thinking it too, because they both half-smiled at each other. Somehow it only tautened the tension between them. Dean stared at Cas and Cas stared at him, and Dean didn’t know whether to talk or kiss him again or give him space.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said.

“Sorry?”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done…” Dean swallowed the end of the question. It was pretty clear what  _ that  _ referred to. “You mean, you didn’t really want… ?”

“No, I - it’s complicated.”

Dean looked down at the ground. It hadn’t felt as though there were anything complicated about it, when it had been happening. It had felt as simple as  _ I want this  _ and  _ I want this,  _ the two of them both wanting, both giving, both taking. It had felt real enough.

“I don’t get it,” Dean said. He wanted to say more - wanted to ask a hundred questions, say a hundred things about how Cas made him feel and what he wanted and hoped, talk about it all. His throat was closed up around the words.

“It’s complicated,” Cas said again, more heavily.

“So… you could explain it.”

“You won’t - it’s not - worth it.”

Dean felt his eyes go wide, as though he’d been hit in the face.

“Not worth it?” he echoed hollowly. Cas was looking away down the street. 

What, so - so whatever it was between them, it wasn’t worth the effort to Cas? Jesus. It was all in Dean’s head that this had any meaning at all? He was the only one taking this seriously and Cas was just having a bit of fun, but it didn’t go deep enough to bother explaining any serious shit? 

But the kiss - it had really felt - it had been so urgent, and - 

He was fooling himself. Dean had been fooling himself.

“Not worth it,” he said, nodding. He found his expression sliding into bitterness, a sharp smile, even though that alone betrayed how much this meant to him and he no longer wanted Cas to know anything, any of it. “Right.”

Cas frowned, and turned to look back at Dean.

“I mean,” he said, “you won’t like it. You’ll not - it won’t - urgh.” Cas dropped his head.

And now Dean was just confused. It was because he wouldn’t like it that it wasn’t worth it? What were all these its? What was happening?

“Cas,” Dean said, “listen, I wanna understand what’s going on here. I really do, man. But you’ve gotta talk to me, because, I mean. That?” Dean jerked his thumb back at the inside of his building, at the stairway. “That was - I mean, I just - I want to get it.” His voice went tight. “It’s worth it to me. So.” He shivered, and suddenly remembered he was outside in just a t-shirt in the middle of December. He folded his arms.

“You’re cold,” Cas said. Dean shrugged, but Cas shook his head. “You should go inside.”

“I’m not going until you explain. Or you decide that you won’t explain. Either way. Just this - I mean, it’s like you don’t want to tell me but you do, maybe.” It was a risk, that, guessing what was going on in Cas’ head, putting words in his mouth, but whatever. Talking about what Cas might feel was better than talking about what Dean definitely did feel, right now. He shivered again.

“You’re shivering,” Cas said, and he went to take off his coat, but Dean couldn’t think of anything worse than standing in this freezing street in the coat of a guy who’d just kissed him and wouldn’t talk to him - or maybe he couldn’t think of anything better, and that made it worse. “Fine, then we should go inside.”

“You’ll come?”

“If you’ll let me.”

Dean snorted in response to that and led the way upstairs.  _ What a mess,  _ he kept thinking.  _ What a mess. It all felt so easy half an hour ago when we were walking up these stairs for the first time. How can it feel like you’re making something so simple when you’re making a big goddamn mess, and you only realise when it all explodes? _

He opened the door to his apartment and walked through it, hearing Cas click it closed behind them. He surveyed his apartment for a moment, trying to feel some connection with it, some homeliness, but either he wasn’t the person who’d always lived here or he’d never really lived here at all - just slept here sometimes. The book of Catullus’ poems poking out from the back of the sofa was the single concession to humanity in the place.

He turned back to Cas and put his hands on his hips.

“Not cold anymore,” he said. A fairly stupid thing to say and it had come out more argumentative than he’d meant to, as though he blamed Cas for caring about him being comfortable - which he did, just a bit. Right now, he just wanted things to be comprehensible in any way, and Cas leaving and then coming back and then kissing him and then telling him they weren’t worth enough to him and then caring that Dean was cold, it was utterly and completely beyond Dean’s comprehension.

Cas, standing with his back to Dean’s door as though he were guarding it, regarded him seriously.

“Good,” he said.

There was another silent stand-off between them, which Dean lost by breathing out and looking down at the floor and shaking his head.

“I don’t know, man,” he said. “I don’t get you right now.” 

There was another long, long quiet. Dean didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t want Cas to leave anymore, not after that kiss, not if they could do that again, not if Cas felt - if Cas wanted - ah, but it was also hurting his head to have Cas standing there, the current crux of Dean’s hopes and fears, the absolute zero on the scale of his understanding.

“The song,” Cas said, and then stopped.

Dean looked up at him.

“Dean…” Cas said. “Did you… I mean, you - you wrote…?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. His eyes were searching Cas’ face, but Cas’ expression was unreadable. “Did you… I mean, yeah.”

“I loved it,” Cas said. 

But something was wrong. He wasn’t meeting Dean’s eyes; he looked like he’d been struck, but in a place where he’d been bruised already, the pain a tiring one rather than a sharpened one. Dean didn’t know what to say to stop him looking like that, to take away what hurt. What was wrong with the song? What was wrong with Cas liking it? Why did he pull away from the singing and the kiss, why did he always pull back?

“It’s for you,” Dean said. “It’s - I mean - if you want it.”

He’d taken a risk, hoped it would help Cas to hear it - but Cas’ hands were fists again. He had his lips pressed so tightly together that they were a thin line, as though he were holding back a thousand words with desperate strength; Dean’s breath was quick and choppy in his chest.

“Or, I mean, like,” he said, “we never have to mention it, uh, again. I just… I’ve felt like - like maybe, you, uh -”

“It’s more complicated than you think,” Cas said, sounding strained. Dean shrugged his shoulders, trying not to be angry. He knew how hard it could be to talk about stuff, but Cas saying over and over again that it was complicated and never explaining more than that, it was burning him.

“What do you mean?” Dean said, when he could trust himself to say it calmly.

Cas looked at him then, and there was a harsh knife-bright glint of hurt in his eyes, which he was clearly working furiously to keep in check.

“You didn’t really write that song for me,” he said, his tone of voice making every effort to be casual, and easygoing, and knowing.

“Wh- but - what do you mean?” Dean said again.

“I mean, you wrote it for someone who doesn’t exist.” Cas looked away, his eyes staring into the middle-distance, as though his mind were trying to be far away, seeing something else. “Look. You’ve made up someone in your head, someone you think I am, Dean. But it’s not me.”

“That’s not true.”

“I know it is,” Cas said, softly.

“But I wrote it for you,” Dean said, feeling stupid and clumsy and not understanding anything that was happening.

Was Cas already in a relationship with someone? Was that the complication? Was he secretly married? But Dean couldn’t imagine Cas behaving towards Dean like he had done, if he had someone else he was committed to. No way. Surely not. Dean didn’t want to believe it. He felt sick. Had he been being played, this entire time?

“You don’t know who I am,” Cas said distantly. 

Dean’s sickness deepened, though those sounded less like the words of a bigamist and more like the words of a crime boss. Or someone in witness protection. Was he being hunted by the Mafia, so he couldn’t afford attachments? Was he himself the head of a crime ring, and he didn’t want to draw Dean into the murky world of drug-running and dodging police raids? Dean’s mind was spinning.

_ Bigamist,  _ half Dean’s brain said.  _ Cheater. Just you wait and see. _

_ Crime boss _ , the other half of Dean’s brain insisted.  _ Or a spy. Totally a spy. License to kill. _

What did it say about Dean, that he’d never speak to Cas again if the first guess was right - but he’d seriously consider doing a lot more than speaking to him, if the second guess was right? He stared at Cas, who stared at him, and - quite suddenly - Dean had had enough. He’d had enough.

“Do you like me?” Dean asked. Like a goddamn tween. Like a kid passing a note in school. Circle yes or no. But there was nothing else he could think of, no other way to figure this out, no better place to start than with what Cas actually felt about him, if he felt anything much at all.

There was a long silence.

“It doesn’t matter if I -” Cas began.

“But do you?” Dean said.

Another long, long pause.

“I can’t - it doesn’t matter whether or not I -”

“I just want to know. I don’t know what other shit is going on and we can deal with that later, but first I just - I just want to know.” 

“Dean…” Cas’ face was the quietest, most brutal tragedy Dean had ever seen. It knocked the air out of Dean, shook him. Cas looked down at the floor.

“It matters,” Dean said.

“It doesn’t.”

“It  _ does _ .”

“It doesn’t. It can’t.”

“Why  _ not? _ ” Dean burst out.

Cas whipped his head up to look at him.

“Because,” he said, “I’m asexual.”

His eyes seemed to splinter, crack like glass; he turned away abruptly, his hands in fists so tight that Dean could see his knuckles were white.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” he said, and then his voice audibly caught in his throat. He made suddenly for the door, turning for it so quickly that it was almost a lunge; Dean, staring at him, could only say the first thing that occurred to him.

“What?” he said. Intelligently.

Cas paused.

“Asexual,” he said. “I said, I’m asexual.” He sounded distant, so distant, as though he were somehow outside himself.

Dean blinked. 

Not - not a cheater? Not a bigamist? Not a Mafia boss, or a murderer? He felt a huge knot in his stomach unclench. Cas didn’t have anyone else on the scene. Cas hadn’t been lying to him the whole time, hadn’t been playing him. 

Cas was, right now, heading for the door again.

“But, wait - is that all?” Dean said.

Cas stopped. He didn’t turn around - but he paused.

“What?” he said. The word came out sharp and hard, a stab through the golden air.

Dean got to his feet.

“Is that - that’s what’s wrong?” he said. “All this time… that’s what’s been wrong?” His mind was whirring, and he was joining dots, now, piecing things together. If he could only work it all out, maybe Cas would look at him again. “That’s what you were talking about at the market, too... how I didn’t know everything about you?” He stood behind Cas, looking at the back of his head, the taut lines of his neck.

“Yes,” he said, and then, “I should go.”

“Wh- wait, again? Why?” Dean said, bewildered. Cas was still, completely still.

“You don’t want me to?”

“What? No, why would I?”

Cas turned and looked at him, his eyes fierce as twin swords, searching for the lie to cut through.

“You can’t pretend that you don’t mind,” he said, sounding angry. “You can’t act like this doesn’t change everything.” 

Dean grasped for what to say. He lifted up his hands slightly, as though trying to quiet a wild animal.

“I’m asexual,” Cas said again.

“You’re asexual,” Dean repeated back. “Dude, I thought you were trying to tell me you were, like, married or something. Maybe running a drug ring.”

There was no trace of humour on Cas’ face.

“I’m asexual,” he said again, more slowly, as though Dean wasn’t understanding.

“Yeah - I mean, I didn’t expect that to be - it’s taking me a minute to process it, and I’m sorry if I’m not saying the right things, but -”

“Saying the right things,” Cas said, sounding derisive, harsh. “Just tell me you wish it wasn’t like this.  _ I  _ wasn’t like this. Tell me you wish it had been anything else. You’re thinking it, aren’t you.”

Dean took a moment just to look at him. The cracked-glass expression on his face, the harsh edges to him, the knife-point question he was holding at Dean’s throat. Fury like that, it didn’t come from nowhere, Dean knew. Fury like that was a shield from a blow that had already landed once, maybe twice, maybe more.

“I’m not worried about anything,” Dean said. “Two seconds ago I thought you were a mob boss.” He bit his lip, and then said, “I don’t wish you’d told me anything else… you were honest, that’s what I wanted.”

“Stop it,” Cas said. “Just stop it. Tell the truth.”

“I am,” Dean said. “I mean it.”

“Shut  _ up, _ ” Cas said, but it didn’t come out sharply; it was more an entreaty, a plea. “Shut up. I know you’re disappointed, really. If you’re not, it’s because you don’t know what it means.”

“I know what it means. It means you’re not sexually attracted to anyone.” Dean watched him, trying to figure out how to put his feelings into words. Trying to figure out what his feelings even were. “And I’m not disappointed.”

“Fuck off,” Cas said, and then looked ashamed of himself, and dropped his head. “No, I - I don’t mean that. But you’re not making sense.” 

“Cas -”

“I just don’t - why aren’t you saying... how this ruins things? Why aren’t you acting like things are ruined? Don’t you get it?” Cas’ voice was rising. “This is where it ends.”

The words were like a single, concentrated hammer blow to Dean’s stomach, that left him numbed and reeling.

“Cas…”

“All of this - all of everything - it’s all been going nowhere, because whatever you want from me, one-night stand or fling or relationship or friends with benefits or anything else, I can’t do that. I can never be what you need. Ever.”

“You don’t know what I need,” Dean said.

“Sex,” Cas answered simply, bitterly. Dean snorted, hiding his nervousness under an attempt to find some humour in the situation.

“Sex isn’t a need. You don’t die if you don’t have sex.”

“You’re not understanding,” Cas said, his tone back to razor-thin and piercing with controlled anger. “I don’t want to have sex with you.”

“Okay,” said Dean.

“And that’s all there is to say,” Cas said.

Dean let out a slow breath.

“But do you like me?” he said softly. Cas stared at him.

“You don’t understand. It doesn’t  _ matter _ ,” Cas said. “If I do or if I don’t, it doesn’t matter. Because if we ever - if we tried to be - that would be missing, and you’d resent me, and even if you never asked, you’d wish that we could, and -”

“This is something we could just talk about,” Dean said, trying to be steady, to be calm. “This is something we could try to figure out together. It doesn’t have to be fighting. If we’re both coming from the same place...”

Cas shook his head.

“How could we be?” he said.

“Well… do you like me?” Dean said.

For a moment, Cas looked as though he would quite like to pitch Dean headfirst out the window. 

“It  _ doesn’t matter, _ ” he said. 

“It matters,” Dean said, “to me.”

“You just don’t believe me,” Cas said. “You think you can persuade me later, if you get me to admit that I like you. You think that it’ll be flexible or fixable or whatever, and you’ll be the exception, but it doesn’t  _ work  _ like that, and -”

“What? I believe you,” Dean said, feeling the stirrings of anger himself. “You think that you could tell me something like that, and I wouldn’t believe you? That I’d want you to be something else or expect you to change? Seriously?”

Cas looked abashed, but he shrugged stubbornly.

“That’s how it goes,” he said.

“Not here,” Dean said. “Not with me. Fuck, Cas, you don’t have to tell me what you feel about me if it seems like I’m just trying to trick you into things down the line. You know why I’m actually asking, though? Why I really wanna know? Do I even have to say it?” 

“You don’t really -”

“I do.”

Dean felt his throat getting tighter; Cas standing in front of him and hurting so badly and so obviously, and them fighting, and things feeling as though they were crumbling, ending, it was getting to him.  _ Screw it,  _ he thought.  _ If this is my last chance to say this shit, I’m gonna say it.  _

“You know, I saw you,” he said, pointing a finger as his voice - stupid goddamn voice - caught at the memory, “in The Refuge, and I felt like we fit from the first second. And ever since then, I just wanna hang out with you. I haven’t - you - you make me - I’ve never - like this, I’ve never…” He broke off, feeling too much to be able to speak through it. How to put into words the kind of instant connection he’d never had before? How to explain the depth of how he felt, how  _ good  _ it felt? “You can’t tell me I don’t feel what I’m feeling right now.”

“Dean,” Cas said, “you can’t still -”

“I can,” Dean said. “I  _ do.  _ Just give me a second to figure out what I want to say. Because I don’t have it all sorted in my head and I want to say what I mean, and not fuck it up.”

Cas shook his head, but he looked to one side and didn’t seem to be in a hurry to move, giving Dean the time that he’d asked for. Dean breathed out, steadying himself the best he could. 

Fuck. 

Okay. So, Cas was asexual. He didn’t want to have sex. And that - that meant he thought things could never work out between them, because Dean would never be happy in a relationship without sex.

Was he right? 

Dean pushed himself for an answer that was truthful. If he kept trying to assure Cas that it was fine without meaning it, it would be worse than just telling the truth now. His instinct had been that this wasn’t a deal-breaker, this wasn’t even a big deal. But he had to think it through past his gut reaction. Could he really imagine starting something with Cas, knowing it would always be without sex?

He looked at Cas. Dean hadn’t even really thought about what it would be like to have sex with him, now that he thought about it. He’d obsessed and fantasised and lingered over a kiss, over a touch, over a glance, over the words Cas had said or could say, but he hadn’t been picturing them having sex. He was attracted to Cas, sure, and in a sexual way as well as a romantic way - he felt that in his body, inseparable strains of hot feeling, but he hadn’t been chasing thoughts of them together in that way. Maybe because things were just getting started between them, or maybe just because their whole - their energy, their vibe, it hadn’t felt as though that kind of tension and potential were there? And Dean was only realising this now; he hadn’t felt the lack of it or even noticed it before. He’d been living in what was there, living in the time that they spent together. It had filled him up. It had been enough.  _ More  _ than enough. So much more. Even applying the concept of  _ enough  _ to it felt cheapening and wrong. But would that last forever? Did it only feel like enough because this was the beginning of everything, and eventually he’d want to have sex?

Dean looked to the future, and took sex out of the relationship equation. He needed time to process it, way more time, but there was no immediate horror, no sense of wrongness, just a deep tug of worry - what was that, what was he worried about? He pushed himself for an answer. What did sex bring that he wanted? Ugh, he hadn’t thought about this stuff, maybe ever. Sex… he worried about how they would express how they felt about each other, how they’d make each other feel wanted and feel special, how they could find some kind of intimacy with each other, if not like that. But that was something they could talk about together, figure out, if they gave themselves the chance. Right?

Dean looked to the future, and took Cas out of the relationship equation. Just considering it for a half-second felt like another silent, devastating punch to the gut.

A flood of images washed over him, unbidden; memories, rising up in protest at even the suggestion of trying to call off or shut down what he felt about Cas. He blinked and in his mind, he was singing to Cas at The Refuge - the lights were sparkling all around them, the sea of faces between them blurred, only Cas’ sharp in his mind.

And he blinked, and he was walking away from Cas down the corridor at the Ground Floor Theatre auditions, both of them watching each other until the last possible moment. Both of them knowing that something had started. The nerves, the hope, the excitement. 

And he was running away with Cas, slipping out of the window and disappearing out into the street. Jody’s voice was chasing them as they made a break for it, escaping normality and responsibility and fakery together, spending hours just being themselves. Openly. 

And he was sitting behind a piano and singing a hopeful song while Cas played for him. He was watching Cas’ hands move on the keys, thinking about how carefully and firmly they pressed and let go. He was singing with someone else, actually really singing the best that he could and hearing that intertwine with someone else’s voice, for the first time in his life.

And he was following Cas down an aisle in a grocery store, and wishing that this could be every day. Every single day.

And he was standing in his own kitchen, thinking he’d lost Cas, and feeling utterly lost. Smacking his closed fists against the counter to dull the tear in his chest. Feeling as though he’d not just lost the possibility of a fun fling or even a good little relationship, but something that went so much deeper. Feeling as though he’d lost the chance to be around someone amazing. Someone who made him want to be better. Someone who made him less afraid.

He saw Cas’ eyes. Cas’ laugh. Cas’ thoughtfulness. Cas’ hands. Cas’ voice. Cas’ intelligence. Cas’ depth. Cas’ expression when he looked at Dean, and the world lit up.

The idea of a relationship without sex didn’t horrify Dean. The idea of a relationship without Cas… he couldn’t even picture it without everything in him rebelling at once, his stomach dropping, his heart pounding, his mind launching memories at him with the speed and precision of sniper fire.

“Okay,” Dean said. Cas didn’t look at him, just watched Dean’s bare apartment wall, but Dean knew he was listening. “Okay. Look. Maybe this feels like it changes everything for you. But for me? I still have this - I still - just about everything is the same for me. Exactly the same. Not expecting you to change or whatever the fuck, just - I still feel the same.” He held up a hand to stymy Cas’ protests. “And honestly? Honestly, this isn’t even that much of a surprise. Because now that I think about it, like - like, yeah, I’m not asexual myself, but the - the chemistry or whatever that we have, like this - this thing, it’s never felt sexual to me. And now I get why, because it’s not sexual for you. And I don’t give a fuck, because it’s the - because it’s what I want, it’s - this is what I fucking want. And as far as I’m concerned, as long as you haven’t been pretending anything or, like, acting like you feel something you don’t really feel so far, then you being asexual doesn’t change shit-all. I like you just the same as before. Maybe more, because now I know you better.”

Cas looked lost. Utterly lost. His expression was shifting from disbelief to hope and then back again. He watched Dean, as though waiting for him to break, to laugh, to say he’d been joking, or to change his mind.

Dean held still, held steady. He looked back, trying not to show how much he was hurting, hoping.

“Really?” Cas said.

“Definitely.”

And Cas must have seen something in Dean’s face - something that he trusted, or at least could believe for now - because his shoulders sagged and his face went suddenly soft and his eyes filled with desperate, desperate and painful bittersweetness.

“Dean,” he said, “I like you.”

It couldn’t have been any other way between them, really, Dean thought as Cas said it. With them being who they were, with the intensity between them, the heat and the deep, thudding, aching, red-rose hunger for each other that they shared, it couldn’t have been any other way.

“Well,” said Dean, all out of words to say. “That’s good.”

Cas half-smiled, a breath of air escaping in a cut-off laugh; he looked as though he might cry. Dean wouldn’t have minded, but Cas looked as though he didn’t want to - looked as though he were trying his very best to hold it in.

They liked each other. And they’d said it. It was out loud, it was in the world. It was real. What that meant, how they liked each other, what they wanted to happen, what they expected and hoped and wished for - all of that was beyond Dean’s understanding. But he had something, now. He had four words.

_ Dean, I like you. _

Dean wanted to touch Cas, wanted to put a hand on his shoulder - wanted, most of all, to draw him into a kiss and keep him close - but he didn’t know if that would be welcome. There would be time to figure that out later, he thought.

“Hey,” Dean said.

“Hello,” Cas said. Dean smiled, and Cas managed a smile back, and Dean said,

“Do you come here often?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a week for using our GROWN UP WORDS. COMMUNICATION. TALKINGGGGGGGG. or something. Go out there and say something you mean to someone, friends. Say something true. Tell the nearest person to you what your favourite yoghurt flavour is. Just let the honesty roll out of you. WHOOSH. <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, thirteen! Unlucky for some, lucky for others. What will it bring for Dean and Cas, though? YOU SHALL SEE. The next update will be a week today, same as always!! That'll be the 5th of July. <3

Two hours later, Dean was lying back on his bed, one hand around a glass with a thin finger of whisky that was perched on his stomach, the other behind his head. He breathed out into the empty room.

The day had been like a drawn-out fistfight, Dean feeling sucker punched from several directions over the course of hours. First the video going up, the views; then the panic attack, out of nowhere; then Cas coming home with him, buying pizza with him; then the fight, then the kiss, then the coming out. And now this. Lying here in the half-dark, with the blinds open so that the lights of the city lay twinkling like little spotlights on the reflective surfaces in his bedroom.

And he still hadn’t called Sam. Dean pushed the thought away. It was too late tonight to do it now, anyway, so he might as well not think about it. Maybe he could put it off for a while, anyway. He shouldn’t rush himself into it.

There was a light tap on the door, and Dean looked to his left and smiled as Cas came back in. He was wearing just a t-shirt, now, showing off those arms of his. Dean wondered if Cas would like it or dislike it that Dean noticed his arms.

“Your shower is…” Cas said, towelling at his wet hair, leaving the sentence hanging.

“Terrible,” Dean finished for him. “I know. Water pressure in this neighbourhood is the worst. I’ve always meant to get it looked at.”

Cas came and sat down on the end of the bed.

“Good shower, though?” Dean asked.

“Yes. I feel better.” Cas had one leg up on the mattress, one dangling down to the floor. “Sorry for the odd request.”

“Nah, not at all.” It hadn’t been particularly odd for Cas to ask to shower after they’d eaten the pizza together, Dean thought. Seemed like a perfectly good way to get some space and wash some things away. And if he showered at Dean’s place, it meant the night wasn’t over and he wasn’t going back to his hotel, and Dean was definitely on board with that. 

Dean lifted himself up on one elbow to take a sip of his whisky, and then flopped back down. 

“You wanna get something to drink? There’s a whole bunch of options.”

“I’m alright for now. Thank you.” Cas finished rubbing his head with the towel and folded it neatly before setting it down on the floor, and then looking at it for a second, and then picking it back up. “What do you normally do with towels? It occurs to me that leaving them on the floor is more of a hotel-room… thing.”

Dean snorted.

“Well, your Majesty, those of us without towel-collectors tend to hang them up ourselves.”

“Goodness. What a way to live,” Cas said dryly. “Where?”

“Just on the corner of the door is fine, if you want.”

Cas went and put the towel on the door, and then came and sat back down. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, though it was past dinner by a good way - it had to be almost nine by now. Dean didn’t want him to go, though, and so he kept still and hoped Cas would relax into the room.

“It’s a nice night,” Cas said, looking out the window. It was true; the weather was clear outside, and the lights glowed through the wide windows. For a while, they both just lay there, Cas watching the city beyond the glass and Dean tracing patterns with his eyes on the blank white ceiling above him.

“What you said before,” Cas said eventually, and then stopped. Dean blinked up at his ceiling a couple of times, and then looked down at Cas when he stayed silent - and then realised the angle was giving him a double-chin, and sat up.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Did you... think about it any more? I know it hasn’t been that long and I know I kind of… um, threw it at you, earlier. I just wondered… sometimes things take a while to sink in, and…” He trailed off again. Dean sat and looked at him; looked at Cas, the person he’d had his head wrapped around for the past while, the person he was still getting to know. The person that Dean wanted to be around right now, for as long as he could be.

“I meant what I said,” Dean said, after a little time. “I really did.”

“I don’t want to be naive,” Cas said softly. A car beeped outside, and he glanced towards one of the big windows.

“Look, we don’t have to take anything too seriously,” Dean said. “Nothing’s gotta happen now. We can just…”

“See how it goes,” Cas finished. Dean smiled at him. He sipped his whisky again, savouring it. He wanted to reach out with his foot and press it against Cas’ thigh. He wanted to crawl across the bed and kiss Cas again. He wanted Cas so, so much closer than the end of the bed. But he remembered how Cas had frozen, before, just at being in Dean’s bedroom; he remembered how little trust Cas had. He kept his hands and his wants to himself, for now.

“How long have you been playing the guitar?” Cas asked.

“Huh? Oh. Like, ages, actually. On and off. I had a guitar when I was younger and then money got kinda tight so we had to sell that one, and then about a year ago I got myself another one.”

“You play well,” Cas said, and Dean felt himself glowing at the simple praise.

“Nah,” he said. “I can’t do anything fancy. How long’ve you been singing, anyway? I know you’ve probably answered that, like, three hundred times in interviews but I, uh… didn’t read that many of them.”

“Really? You shock me,” Cas said, his smile knowing. Dean made a face at him. “I started singing when I was very young. My family encouraged it while I was in the school choir, and then I started my own band, and suddenly they didn’t like it so much.”

“Huh. Not into pop?”

“It was a rock band, actually.”

“No way?” Dean sat up straighter on the bed. “What songs did you play? Covers or originals?”

“Mostly covers, but I did some songwriting even back then.”

“Okay, come on. Now we’ve got to do this. Favourite rock song.” Dean beckoned. “Give it to me.”

Cas’ eyes lit up at the question but he took a breath of uncertainty, sucking air in through pursed lips. Dean watched him think, and it started out with staring at those lips, but then his gaze trailed up to Cas’ eyes, the way that they seemed to shine pinkly in the warm city light. He watched stray drops of water slide from Cas’ hair to land on his t-shirt, soaking into the fabric on his shoulders. Dean stared and stared, and thought,  _ I could watch this forever. Just you, like this. _

He felt suddenly and briefly overwhelmed by how much he felt for the single, strange human sitting on the end of his bed. He didn’t know Cas’ favourite colour, his parents’ names, his birthday, even - but he wanted to watch him forever. Wanted to watch the water drip, drip, drip, and see the light catch in his eyes like magic, and know that his mind was at work.

Nothing had changed, Dean thought again. Cas had expected so much for Dean’s thoughts like this to fade - no, not to fade, but to be cut off cruelly and completely - by the revelation that he was asexual. But here Dean was, and there was the thought, arriving unbidden at the simple sight of Cas sitting and thinking. And Dean wasn’t imagining that anything sexual might happen between them. There was no expectation. Just appreciation. Just sitting and watching and realising he had to be one of the luckiest guys in the entire world, right now.

“Something by Queen,” Cas said eventually, and then he looked at Dean and seemed to notice the expression on his face, because he said, “What?”

“Nothing,” said Dean, and he didn’t mean for it to happen, but the way that the word came out made it sound as though there was most definitely something.

Cas didn’t smile. Instead, he suddenly had that same expression on his face that he’d worn when Dean had told him things weren’t over between them, just because he was asexual. The expression that looked us though he’d just been hit very hard by a wave of soft water, and wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“What?” it was Dean’s turn to ask.

“Nothing. I just - you - nothing.” Dean shrugged, feeling as though he might have done something right, but not entirely sure.

“Queen, though,” he said. “Iconic. I’m usually more of a hard rock kinda guy usually, myself. But I love Queen.”

“Bohemian Rhapsody,” Cas said.

“We Are the Champions.”

“Don’t Stop Me Now…”

“Somebody to Love,” they both said together, and then grinned.

“What’s your favourite?” Cas asked.

“Oh, uh. Probably something by Led Zeppelin.”

Cas brightened. He sat more firmly on the bed, lifting his hanging leg up and folding it underneath him.

“We used to play Led Zep. We’d jam Stairway to Heaven all the time when the band was still together. The neighbourhood was scandalised, obviously. Or maybe we just really wanted them to be...”

“Man, I wish I could’ve been there.”

“I don’t,” Cas said. “I had a terrible haircut that my mother insisted on.”

Dean grinned.

“Oh, now I just want to be there even more.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but he looked pleased.

“Well, I’m sure we could have found a use for you.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.” Cas looked at him frankly, directly, as though he was expecting Dean to understand something from that. Dean didn’t felt as though he fully did understand, but the general feeling seemed to be one of being welcome, and it felt good.

“What happened to playing rock, then? How come it’s all pop now?” Dean asked, and Cas shrugged. He unfurled his legs, stretching out along Dean’s bed, still sitting at the bottom with his arms bracing him upright on the mattress.

“I don’t know, really. My own songwriting started to tend that way. I was posting videos on YouTube and people were commenting a lot more on my pop videos, so I thought that was a good direction to go in, make people happy. Then I got signed, and…”

“And?”

“I don’t know. My label… it’s complicated. They take care of me, but my songs… I don’t always get to choose what I sing.”

“That’s bullshit,” Dean said. He drained the last of his whisky, and then pointed the glass towards Cas emphatically. “You should be able to sing what you want, when you want.”

“I have a lot I don’t want to talk about publicly,” Cas said quietly. “A lot I don’t want known, that would make my label a lot of money if it got leaked. My face, being asexual, where my family live, everything. No one at the company has leaked anything about me, ever.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “because you’re, like, mega-famous and you’d clearly ditch them if they said a word. They’re not being kind, man, they just know which side their bread is buttered.”

Cas blinked at him.

“But…” He was quiet for a moment. “There is that,” he said, after a while.

“You sure you don’t want a drink?”

“Maybe just one.” Cas followed Dean through to the kitchen, and somehow choosing Cas’ one drink turned into taking teaspoons full of each individual bottle that Dean owned and tasting them, trying to figure out what Cas liked best.

“Hannah should be here,” Dean said. “They don’t know what drinks they like, either.”

“Jody keeps us all on the straight and narrow path,” Cas said, delicately tasting vermouth for the first time. Dean couldn’t remember where he’d picked that up; maybe he’d won it in a raffle one time, or been given it as a present from Sam - yeah, that sounded right. He thought it might have been from Sam a couple of Christmases ago. Weird stuff.

“That’s a good thing,” Dean said. He was just starting to feel a slight buzz.

“Yes. It’s easy to fall into bad habits when you’re on the road. Harder when no one knows which face to sell the drugs to, I think, but still relatively easy.”

Cas chose a gin and tonic. They took their glasses and headed back to Dean’s room, the feeling between them warm and somehow private. Everything they did felt as though it were being done for themselves and themselves alone; all the performativity Dean felt, even when he was by himself, sometimes, was stripped away. They talked about music, they talked about books; Cas handed Dean his guitar and insisted on hearing more, and Dean kept pretending to play a serious song and then starting to sing lyrics from the  _ Arthur  _ theme song, and they both lost it every time. Dean had to put the guitar down just to be able to look Cas in the eye without laughing - and God, but it felt good to laugh so hard, to have so much fun. To be able to just find something completely hilarious and put his face in his hands and laugh until his sides hurt, and have Cas laughing right beside him in that somewhat wondering, quiet way of his. It was so simple. It was so  _ theirs. _

“Your family,” Dean said, when they’d managed to calm down. Cas went still, but his face didn’t look forbidding. He was still sitting facing the headboard, but he was halfway up the bed, now, close to Dean. His knee kept brushing Dean’s when he moved. Dean himself was lying down flat again, head on his pillow. Both their drinks were empty, but Dean didn’t want to move away from Cas to get another. He didn’t need it, anyway.

“My family,” Cas repeated, with a great deal more contempt in his voice.

“Why don’t you actually go back and see them for Christmas, if you’re saying you will? Won’t Jody totally freak if she finds out you’re not where you’re supposed to be?”

Cas’ face shifted into slight truculence, a look that Dean realised he associated with Cas railing against Jody’s concerns.

“I can’t go home,” he said. “I’ve tried, in the past. They just - they don’t get anything about me. And it’s tiring. They say such small things or make these momentary faces and one on its own wouldn’t matter, but it’s over and over and over again.”

“Urgh.”

“It’s not ideal. I want Jody and Donna and Hannah and everyone on the team to go home and have Christmas with their families, but I can’t go back to mine. I’ll be so much happier not being with them.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

Cas visibly stifled a yawn.

“I’m used to it. It’s alright.” He blinked slowly. “What about your family?”

“Me?” Dean cleared his throat and reached for the neck of his guitar, looking for something comforting to hold. “Ah. Well, just me ‘n’ Sam now. My, uh. Parents are both, uh.” The silence drew out. Dean could usually talk about this with so much distance, but somehow he couldn’t pull off the performance in front of Cas.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said. Dean would normally shrug, but tonight, he nodded.

“They were both around a good long time,” he said. “But not long enough.”

Cas let that stay in the air for a while, and then rather than speak, he moved; he shifted around, and lay back, and rested his head on Dean’s stomach.

“Is this OK?” he asked.

Dean, who was wondering how the  _ hell  _ Cas would know what to do to make him feel better so precisely and give it so easily, managed to say,

“Yeah, this is okay.” He swallowed, and added, “It’s good.”

They were quiet for a long time, lying at right-angles to each other, Cas’ head a heavy welcome weight on Dean’s stomach. Cas’ legs were hanging off the end of the bed; even so, he was still for long enough that Dean thought he must have fallen asleep. After several minutes, though, Cas said sleepily,

“What happens now, Dean?”

Dean thought he wouldn’t waste time pretending not to understand, and then realised he didn’t completely understand, and asked,

“Now like  _ now  _ now, or now like soon now?”

“Soon now, I think.” 

Dean thought about it, and then said,

“I don’t know. I mean, uh. We could - we could try going on a - date? Sometime?” Dean said cautiously. Somehow it felt odd to suggest. The way he felt about Cas was so intense already, so much had passed between them already, and Cas himself was so - Dean didn’t have a word for it, but unusual came the closest - so unusual, that it seemed strange, the idea of them trying to go out on a date like normal people.

Dean realised with a little pleasurable drop in his stomach that he had never felt less like a normal person than he did right now, lying on his bed with Cas resting on his stomach: Cas the international superstar at whose concert Dean was going to sing, Cas the person Dean wanted, Cas, Cas, Cas. He felt better than normal, better than ordinary. He’d been living ordinary for years and years and right now, he was anything but. And he realised, with a flutter in his stomach, how much he  _ loved  _ it. The idea of getting attention, and people seeing him in a video and figuring things out about him, it was a big change - and big changes meant big panic, according to how he’d reacted before, with that attack of anxiety on the stage. But now, in the quiet of the night with Cas leaning on him, Dean felt something blossom in him at the thought of not being average. Not being a guy with a pretty boring job and a pretty boring apartment and a pretty boring mask stuck over the only bits of his life that shone. Instead, being a guy who was kind of... special. Not on the inside, obviously, nothing special there. But just through circumstance, being someone whose life was kind of interesting. Being a guy who people thought was worth paying attention to. More than anything, being a guy who was part of whatever goddamn magic was going on between himself and Cas.

“I’ve never been on a good date before,” Cas said thoughtfully, and Dean realised they’d both been quiet for a long time.

“What - never?”

“Never.”

Now, that made it something special, Dean thought. He could handle that. Not going on a date because it was  _ what people do,  _ but going on a date because he wanted to show Cas what it could be like.

“And…” Cas said hesitantly, and then pressed on, “I don’t know. I’ve never really liked the idea of a date. Sitting across from someone you like in a pretentious restaurant and making small talk, or just staring at your food because you don’t know what to say and it’s awkward because you’re supposed to be focused on each other, but it’s hard to be focused on each other when it’s what you’re  _ supposed  _ to do instead of what you want to do. Or if you go to some place neither of you really cares about, just because you need something to do so that you don’t have to actually sit and talk to each other. It just seems so distant, somehow.” Dean could feel Cas’ voice rumble through his stomach ever so slightly when he spoke. “I feel like I just... want to be around you as you live your life sometimes.”

“Not all dates are fancy restaurants,” Dean pointed out. Maybe they wouldn’t date in the normal way, but damn it, Dean  _ did  _ want to go some places with Cas and he  _ did  _ want to hang out with just the two of them, and he wanted to think of those hangings-out in a romantic kind of way, and that could make them dates. Right? “Not all dates are like what you said. Not if that isn’t what you want to do.”

“Really?” Cas sounded as though he knew as much, but wanted to play along.

“Really,” Dean said. “A date can be anything.”

“Like what?”

“Like... going to the grocery store and spending an hour choosing a pizza,” Dean said, and he could just about see the way Cas smiled from the angle he was lying. “Or just chilling and talking for a while, at my place. Watching a movie together, maybe. Going to see something we’re both interested in. Singing together, or reading weird old classical books together. Or coming with me to my brother’s house for Christmas.”

The last one escaped. It was out of his mouth before he’d had time to think it through, as though the words were assassins that had been hiding in the shadows of his mind - lurking, waiting for their chance to strike and brutally murder his dignity. Cas was going to say no. Without a doubt, Cas was going to say no.

“Really?” Cas said. He shifted, sitting up slightly, rolling over to look at Dean’s face. “Wait - Dean, do you mean it?”

Dean’s mouth dropped open. 

“You - you want to come?”

“Well, I mean... unless you only said that as a joke, or you didn’t expect me to say yes…”

“No, no, I - I didn’t think you’d want to, but dude, if you - if you wanna come…”  The full ramifications of the offer were starting to run through Dean’s mind; he’d have to call and ask Sam if it was okay for Cas to come, and Sam would want to know who Cas was, and that would mean having to explain - explain everything, the auditions, the concert, the fact that he could sing at all. And, while he was there, he might as well just come out as bisexual, right? Just casually, just - just casually drop that into the conversation - right?

He remembered that he’d been not wanting to rush himself, and realised that somewhere in the back of his mind that had meant he’d been vaguely planning to come out after the 25th, and have one last Christmas with everything pretty much just the way it always had been. But if Cas came, Dean would have to do it sooner. There was no way that Sam wouldn’t notice the way they were around each other unless they made an effort to cover it up - the way they looked at each other and spoke to each other and acted towards each other. Dean wouldn’t want to have to pack that all away and pretend to have platonic feelings, just for the sake of keeping Sam in the dark about the fact that he could - and did - feel something like that about a guy.

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice quiet. “I don’t have to come.”

“What? Oh, no,” Dean said, blinking back to reality and realising he’d been gone a little too long. “No, no, man. I was just thinking that I should call Sam and let him know you’ll be coming. But that’s a job for tomorrow.”

“Mmmm.” Cas was reaching half-heartedly for his phone, still lying propped up on his elbows. Dean swung his wrist up so that he could peer at his watch through the half-dark, and then frowned.

“Holy crap. It’s past two. When did that happen?”

“I have no idea,” Cas said, deadpan. “But I should probably… call a taxi, or…”

Dean shook his head.

“No, come on,” he said, “stay the night. You can’t get a taxi at two in the morning, Jody will kill me.”

“I…” Cas’ face was conflicted. He was looking at the bed, and at Dean, and then down at his phone. He blinked, slow and sleepy. “I’m tired,” he said.

“Stay.” Dean smiled. “I can sleep on the sofa bed.”

Cas shut off his phone, and rolled back to lie with his head on Dean’s stomach.

“Don’t,” he said.

Dean snorted softly.

“Oh, we’re sleeping like this? With our clothes on and everything?”

“Mmm.”

“You’ll get dead legs. C’mon, at least lie on the bed properly.” Dean sat up and Cas made a noise of protest, but half-hearted and warm; Dean reached out and pushed at Cas’ shoulder, pulled on his legs. Cas rolled himself under the covers and put his head on the pillow, and closed his eyes again.

“I don’t want to cause trouble…” Cas murmured - but there it was, that note in his voice that sounded pleased to be asked to be with Dean.

“No trouble,” he said. “But I’m expecting a three-course breakfast waiting for me in the morning.”

“With freshly-squeezed grapefruit juice?” Cas asked, mumbling.

“Absolutely. And toast buttered to the corners.”

“Sir has excellent taste.”

Dean wanted to kiss him. He wanted to take Cas into his arms. He wanted to lean in, bring their foreheads together. He wanted, again, for their lips to touch, and hold, press hard. He wanted to kiss Cas so badly that it was burning his chest raw from the inside out, he could almost taste the smoke of it on his tongue, he was immolating -

He took a breath, and a mental step back. 

Cas was a guest in his house, late at night. The trust between them was still tentative, still new. If Dean did this wrong, pushed things beyond the point where Cas was comfortable now, then Cas would be faced with the choice of sleeping in a house with someone he didn’t completely trust - or finding his way back to his hotel in the middle of the night.

“Goodnight, Cas,” Dean said. 

Cas opened his eyes and looked at him. He didn’t smile, not even slightly.

“Sleep well, Dean,” Cas said.

“Mind if I play for a few minutes?”

Cas closed his eyes again.

“I’d love you. To.” The odd pause in the middle of the sentence, Dean put down to sleepiness. He reached for his guitar and began to strum the strings lightly, humming at first and then softly singing as Cas’ breathing became deep and regular.

_ “Head in the clouds, _

_ And your feet on the ground. _

_ Your voice out loud, _

_ It’s my new favourite sound.” _

Dean let the day play out of him through the music, let the twisted-tight knot of worry unravel, let the too-hot-to-touch part of him that was so unbelievably happy to have Cas beside him right now be expressed in the quietly-sung words.

_ “Look at your eyes, _

_ They’re the colour of blue. _

_ Where should I be, _

_ Yeah, right next to you.” _

The chorus came to him, now, the lyrics he'd been on the brink of suddenly falling into place along with a shift in the melody, a lower tone of his voice to sing in, as though the sound was coming from somewhere deeper inside.

_ “The sky is there for dreams, and see, _

_ I want to join you there. _

_ It’s longer than it seems to be _

_ Since I’ve made a prayer. _

_ I just want to stand by you _

_ With feet on solid ground, _

_ My mind lost in the big wide blue…” _

Dean paused for thought, and then finished,

_ “The both of us, skybound.” _

It wasn’t much, he reflected, and he’d never be a songwriter with the simple chords he was strumming over and over, but the melody was soft and pretty and he sung it a few more times, adding in little runs on the guitar and vocal tricks that Cas had taught him, getting his breathing in the right places. It didn’t sound bad by the time tiredness loomed too large for him to play through its daunting shadow, and he carefully leaned down to put the guitar by the side of the bed he was lying on, and pulled the covers over himself, and settled.

It was probably creepy, he knew, but he couldn’t resist keeping his eyes open just for a few moments, to watch Cas, who was breathing deeply and soundly, his eyes closed and his brow soft, untroubled. Dean wanted to touch him, but didn’t. He only watched for a while, and wondered at himself and his own capacity for feeling things he wouldn’t have ever thought he could, and breathed out, and shut his eyes. Waking up tomorrow morning for work was going to be a struggle, but it would be worth it for this.

He was almost completely lost to sleep when a touch pressed itself to his shoulder, slid down, and found his hand. Half in dream, he didn’t open his eyes or move or make a sound - only held tight. He held tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should say that ended up rather lucky indeed, wouldn't you? I hope that you have a very lucky week too!! I'm going to hopefully bake brownies tomorrow with raspberry and a white chocolate glaze, no less, so that'll be my bit of luck if they turn out well. Paul Hollywood eat your heart out. If any of you would like some, just send me a smoke signal and I'll launch a brownie at you with my international catapult (patent pending).


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness! You're here already! Gosh! You've caught me all unawares! Well, here's the chapter for you, though I didn't yet roll out the red carpet. You'll have to make do with the purple one. I do hope that's alright. Next update will be on the 12th July and I will make sure to have cucumber sandwiches and the orchestra prepared in good time!

Dean woke up groggily and bad-temperedly at seven, not enough hours later. 

He smacked off his alarm, and wondered why he was still so tired - and then remembered the night before. Cas. The fight they’d had. The kiss. The long night of talking and music. Inviting Cas to come for Christmas, and Cas saying yes.

The bad temper fell away. Dean rolled onto his back, grinning up at the ceiling of his room. He’d left the blind open last night, and thin weak-tea sunlight was trickling in through the windows; he watched it play above him, casting strange shadows, as his thoughts embraced him. He couldn’t remember the last time sitting and thinking about something that had really happened had felt better than dreaming about things that could happen - but that was this morning. This golden morning.

Cas liked him. Cas liked him. Cas had  _ kissed  _ him. Dean watched Cas move over and over again in his memory, not having to change or add anything to the scene this time, no wishing, no hoping, no what-if about the moment. Just Cas looking at him on the stairs and then reaching for him, surging up, desperate and sudden and - and just perfect.

_ Dean... I like you. _

Dean breathed out, and realised he couldn’t hear Cas breathing. Had he left? There was a brief seize in his stomach. He rolled over in his covers, and saw a big blanket-covered lump beside him on the bed. 

Cas had stayed. Cas had  _ stayed.  _ Yesterday, he’d looked on the point of leaving the building and never seeing Dean again - more than once, he’d looked that way - but instead, he’d stayed. He’d slept beside Dean the whole night. Careful to move gently enough not to wake Cas, Dean pulled the blanket over his head to shut out everything just for a moment. The happiness was too much to hold inside. It was raw and almost painful. Cas had actually said those things. He’d  _ said  _ them. Whatever happened from now, it was on the understanding that Cas liked him, and Dean liked Cas back. Dean breathed against the covers.

Had he ever liked someone this much, and had them actually like him back? The closest he could think of to something this intense was the crushes he’d had when he was young, teen strains of feeling that hadn’t been held back by the walls he’d built around himself as he grew. These days he usually asked questions, and worried, and held back, and pushed away. But then, he usually didn’t feel this deeply in the first place. Cas made him  _ happy.  _ God, he was so unbelievably happy right now. Lying in bed next to him… he’d lain in bed next to a lot of people, and he’d never been sad to wake up beside them, but he’d never felt anything like this.

_ Dean... I like you. _

“Hhhhhh,” Dean said, the sound muffled by the blankets over his head. “Okay. Okay. Cool. Oh my God, cool.”

Dean’s second alarm sounded, and he poked his head out of the covers to glare at it for a long moment before snaking out a hand to switch it off. Work beckoned, and he needed to grab something to eat first; he didn’t want to wake Cas, so -

Cas. Dean wanted to see him. He reached out tentatively.

“Hey,” he said softly, tugging at the covers.

They were all bundled up, but when he pulled on them, they unraveled. Dean stared. Under the fluffy lump that they’d been, there was no one.

No Cas.

The good feeling was gone. Dean rolled out of bed, and almost put a foot through his guitar, which was lying on the floor where he’d left it last night; for a moment, he went to hide it under his bed again where he’d kept it for so long - and then he remembered how Cas catching sight of it had led to him asking Dean to play, which had led to Dean singing the song he’d made for Cas, which had led to Cas coming out to him as asexual, which had led to them talking.

If Cas was gone… Dean’s heart was thudding, but he took the time to grip the neck of his guitar, and lift it, and rest it carefully up against the wall beside his bed. He stood and looked at it there for a second, in plain view of the door when anyone walked in. He was wasting time like he always did with something he didn’t want to do, yes - putting off having to leave his room and go and search his empty apartment to confirm that Cas had left him to wake up alone - but there was something more to it, having his guitar out like that. Something that mattered.

He let out a breath, and nodded, and left his bedroom. 

He walked through to the living room. Maybe Cas just hadn’t wanted to sleep beside Dean the whole night, maybe Dean had snored or maybe Cas had had a bad dream, and he’d decided to go and spend the night on the sofa instead. Dean hoped for one second, two seconds, three, all the seconds he could squeeze into the walk down the hall to the empty sofa. 

Cas wasn’t there. He was gone.

Dean stared down at the sofa. 

Maybe it was just that Cas had got a call from Jody, telling him to get back to the hotel early? Dean didn’t want to think that something could be wrong, that Cas could have deliberately ducked out as soon as he woke up to avoid seeing Dean. Or even that he’d only pretended to go to sleep, so that Dean would drop off and he could sneak away. Hadn’t he known that he could tell Dean he wanted to leave, and Dean would have helped him get home, or not helped him get home if that was what he wanted? Cas had seemed okay when he’d gone to sleep. The way he’d rested his head on Dean, told him not to go... had Dean misread him - had Cas felt pressured into staying last night, been waiting for the chance to escape, and seized it as soon as he could? Dean pulled out his phone, hoping that Cas had at least sent him a text to explain.

No missed calls. Two new messages, but they were from Charlie and Sam.

Dean’s heart was beating in his ears. The happy bubble that he’d woken up in had burst, and dropped him back into the respectable blue-grey reality of his empty apartment. He needed to get to work, but he wanted to know that Cas was safe first, but he didn’t want to call Cas and make things awkward if he’d left because he didn’t want to be around Dean. Putting a hand to his forehead, Dean slid it back through his hair, gripping it at the top with tight fingers. 

What if - what if that was the last time he ever saw Cas? What if all the times it had looked like he was going to leave yesterday had been Cas just trying to do what he really wanted, and he’d finally managed it now? What if Dean had somehow messed up so badly that all he’d get now would be a text from Jody telling him that they weren’t going ahead with the plan to have him sing in the concert, and no more explanation than that? 

He’d have to go back to his normal life, his day-to-day. No reason to come out to Sam and no reason to sing in front of people. No Cas. He’d have to put the guitar back under his bed - the thought came obscurely, painfully, a summation of everything that would be wrong.

No Cas. No Cas. No Cas.  _ Again.  _ Dean had lost him again, and this time he couldn’t give chase, or talk to him.

Behind Dean, there was the sound of a door creaking open.

“You need to oil the hinges of your doors,” said a voice. Dean whipped round, so fast that he almost lost his balance; there, framed in the doorway to his kitchen, wearing Dean’s hugely oversized Led Zep t-shirt and sporting messy bedhead and holding a sizzling frying pan, was Cas. “Dean?”

Dean realised his mouth was hanging slightly open, and closed it. He wasn’t sure whether Cas still being here, or Cas looking so incredibly freaking good and wearing Dean’s own clothes, was more of a sucker-punch in the best possible way.

“Oh,” Cas said, his eyes flicking over the scene - Dean’s undisguised surprise and relief, the phone in Dean’s hand. “You thought I left?”

“I - yeah,” Dean managed. Cas was wearing Dean’s t-shirt. His mind was stuck on that. Cas was wearing his t-shirt; it was hanging loosely off him, and it looked so good. “Yeah, I thought maybe you’d gone.”

“But I promised you breakfast,” Cas said, raising up the frying pan.

Dean swallowed, pulled himself together.

“I hope you’ve buttered right to the corners,” he said, “or I’m gonna have to report it to the management.”

Cas’ face relaxed into a smile.

“Well,” he said, “I actually found the ingredients for pancakes in your cupboards, so Sir’s breakfast will have no corners.”

Dean touched a finger to his forehead, and then pointed it at Cas.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You’ve found the loophole in my breakfast puzzle.”

Cas gave a little mock bow, and then turned away, heading back with his frying pan - Dean’s frying pan - towards the stove. Wearing Dean’s t-shirt. He was just… wearing Dean’s t-shirt. It was making Dean’s brain short out. Cas’ body in Dean’s clothes. Fabric that usually Dean wore, resting on Cas’ skin. Cas surrounding himself in something that was Dean’s. 

Dean followed him, still a little heady with disbelief. He was going to give himself some kind of condition if he kept freaking out. There had been the YouTube video, then Cas getting upset and leaving, then the kiss and Cas leaving again after the kiss, then it seeming like Cas was gone just now… Dean swallowed hard, and tried to pull himself together. After several years of - well, charitably he could call it stasis, but stagnancy felt more accurate - after so long in the quiet, it felt like the past twenty-four hours had been one thing after another. The past week as a whole, in fact.

He walked into the kitchen, and was greeted by the smell of breakfast. Dean thought he could handle one thing after another, if it meant that he got to have this: Cas, in his kitchen, with Dean’s big old t-shirt showing off his collarbones and strong arms, bathed in morning sunlight and cooking breakfast for them both. He glanced back at Dean and smiled as Dean sat down on a stool at his breakfast bar.

“I do have to say,” Cas said conversationally, “pancakes are harder to cook than the recipes online would have you believe.”

Dean slanted his eyes left and then back to Cas suspiciously.

“And by harder to cook, you mean…”

Cas made a face, and then swayed slightly to the left. Behind him, on the counter Dean saw a plate stacked high with - well,  _ charitably  _ he could call them pancakes, but a big pile of messy half-fried batter felt more accurate. Dean was taken by surprise and snorted loudly, covering up his face with one hand. Cas sounded as though he was holding back a laugh when he said,

“I followed the cooking video to the letter! But I got a bit… mixed… with the flipping…”

Dean got up, and walked around to where Cas was standing, and put his hands on his hips, and looked down at Cas’ phone, which was open on a video that was paused. It showed a picture of a neat, rustic-looking setup and a pair of manicured hands stirring ingredients in a bowl. Dean read the title of the video with a frown. Beside the phone was the plate of would-be pancakes; they were pooling in a way that pancakes tended generally not to do.

“Well,” Dean said, “they’re not going to win any competitions.”

“Maybe they’ll win hearts,” Cas said. He was poking tentatively at the pancake in the frying pan with a spatula, looking focused.

“Do bad pancakes win hearts?”

“Only the very best hearts,” Cas said.

“Hmmm. You know,” Dean reached over and took the spatula out of Cas’ hand, glancing down at Cas’ phone again, “pancakes go better when you follow a recipe for pancakes, and not crepes.”

Cas looked dumbfounded.

“It - it’s for…”

“This would be one of your more  _ head in the clouds  _ moments.” Dean grinned at him; Cas pulled an expression that was half-mock and half-real indignation, and reached into his bowl of mixed batter. He scooped some up onto one finger and, before Dean could duck away, he splodged it neatly onto Dean’s cheek.

“Hey!”

Dean reached for the batter bowl, but Cas got there first. He picked it up and hugged it to his chest protectively, like a mother with her baby. He was almost laughing, again, looking so happy that it seemed some of the sunlight had got caught in his eyes, glinting now and then in the flash of a new joke. Dean put down the spatula. The pancake already in the pan was spread so thin and cooked so strangely that it was already a lost cause, anyway. He squared up to Cas, spreading his arms.

“Give me the bowl,” he said, “and no one has to get hurt.”

“You’re lying,” Cas said, clutching his hostage.

“I am not!”

“You’re just saying whatever it is you think that I want to hear.”

“I would  _ never, _ ” Dean said, and they’d brushed up against something a little too real; Cas’ expression was slipping ever so slightly. Working more on instinct than anything, reading body language in a way he wouldn’t have been able to word, Dean stepped back to give Cas a little space. He turned away a little, trying to let the tension release. He held out his hand for the bowl.

“C’mon,” he said. “I’ll show you how.”

Cas handed it to him. Dean put it on the counter, and then tipped Cas’ final attempt at a pancake onto the top of the plate with the sad-looking others. He reached into the nearest cupboard for a jug.

“Batter goes in there,” he said to Cas as he set the jug down on the counter beside the bowl. He drizzled a little oil into the hot pan, where it immediately began to sizzle and spit. Dean turned the heat down on the stove. “I’m using oil, not butter, ‘cause butter will burn. Also I don’t think I have any butter. But it’s mostly the burning thing.”

Cas was pouring the batter into the jug with a look of intense concentration. Dean watched him. He lifted the pan off the heat to give Cas time, feeling his own expression going softer and sweeter and not being able to help it, no matter how he tried to arrange his own face to feel normal and unaffected. Cas’ cheek looked soft and near and kissable. Dean wondered if it would be going too far to lean over and -

“Done,” Cas said, and held out the jug. Dean smiled, and lowered the pan.

“Okay,” he said. “So, now you’re gonna want to just pour a little bit - not too much, not too much -” He grabbed Cas’ hand around the jug handle to slow the rush of batter into the pan, and then quickly pulled away once the job was done. The dollop of batter began to spread into a messy kind of circle.

“At least you put the chocolate chips in ‘em,” Dean said, looking the pancake appraisingly. With the pan this hot, it wouldn’t be long before he had to flip it. He looked up at Cas, and found that he was being watched with a curious expression. “What?”

“Nothing, just - you - I’m not - I mean, you just…” Cas seemed to run out of words, and mimicked the way Dean had pulled his hand back, exaggerating it so that it looked as though he’d just touched something burning. Dean felt his cheeks go pink. He cleared his throat.

“Oh,” he said. “I did?” No, he didn’t want to play it like that. “I did,” he said again, more certainly, honestly. Cas said nothing, just let the sound of the pancake cooking in the pan fill the silence. “I dunno,” Dean said. “I just don’t wanna… I’m not sure what you… want.” God, he was so awkward. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable. By being too. Uh.”

Cas lifted his hand, and put it on Dean’s neck, and leaned in, and placed a firm, strong kiss on Dean’s lips.

Dean felt his whole body go weak. It actually went  _ weak.  _ He dropped the spatula.

“It’s not too much,” Cas said, not taking his hand away from Dean’s neck, not pulling far back.

Dean turned to face him fully, and slipped his hands up to Cas’ hips, and kissed him again. And this time it wasn't a rush or a surprise; this time it was a  _ kiss _ , it was a rush of burning feeling through Dean's palms and his chest and his head that he could express, could share, with the press of his lips to Cas'. This was it, this was the kiss he'd been on fire for, the one he'd wished and hoped and hurt for - the stupid impossible dream, the insane moment of being able to lean into Cas and be met with the same need, the same desire. They swayed, silent, the pancake sizzling beside them, and Cas' hand was strong on Dean's neck and his lips tasted like he'd eaten some of the chocolate chips and Dean was kissing him, kissing him, kissing him. Cas pushed against him, backing him up until Dean was against the cupboard on the far wall, still with eyes closed and lips pressed, hot thrill, rough and a little urgent. And Cas' hand was pushing through Dean's hair; he was so close as though he knew that was what Dean wanted, what he needed, just to have Cas be closer than the clothes on his skin or the air in his lungs. And Dean let himself be kissed, and held, and obviously and desperately  _ wanted _ , until finally Cas pulled away.

Dean, starry-eyed, could only stare at him.

"I think…" Cas said, and he pressed his forehead to Dean's. God, God, God. He pressed his forehead to Dean's, he wanted to be so close, and Dean was so blazingly achingly miraculously happy. So much happier than he'd known he possibly could be anymore. His mind was just a riot of colour, colour, light, Cas.

"Yeah?" he managed.

"I think… the pancake might be burning."

The acrid scent of burning was filling the kitchen. Dean stared over at the pancake in the pan, and then laughed, and dropped his head onto Cas’ shoulder. Cas put his hand on the back of Dean’s head.

“It’s starting to smoke,” he said conversationally.

Dean shifted away from Cas, reluctant but ultimately hoping to avoid a case of arson. They took the pancake off the heat and started a new one, and before long they’d managed to make themselves a big pile of fat, golden, chocolate-speckled pancakes.

“I love chocolate chip,” Cas said, when they’d settled down to eat.

“Chocolate chips run in my blood,” Dean said. “If I don’t eat enough of them, I get scurvy. You are literally saving my life.”

“Thank god I didn’t do blueberry,” Cas said seriously.

“Mmm. You would’ve had to go steal some blueberries from somewhere,” Dean said, getting up and heading towards one of his cupboards. He shuffled things around, and plucked out a bottle of syrup. “Because I do not keep those in stock.”

“I would have sent you out to do it,” Cas said. Dean squirted a liberal amount of the syrup over his pancakes as he sat back down, and then cut into them. “A blueberry thief.”

“I don’t steal,” Dean said, shoving a forkful of hot, delicious pancakes dripping with syrup into his mouth. “Mmmf. Oh my God, these are amazing.”

“You do steal,” Cas said. He picked up the bottle and was, if anything, even more liberal than Dean with the syrup.

“What have I ever stolen?” Dean demanded, already on his second bite. God, they were good. Cas, meanwhile, was surveying his own pancakes thoughtfully.

Then he said,

“Three million dollars in fine art, I hear.”

He picked up his knife and fork, and began eating.

“Wergh?!” Dean managed, through his mouthful.

“I’m going to have to call the police on you.”

Dean swallowed.

“Cas, c’mon… it’s art theft. It’s a victimless crime. I can get you the Mona Lisa for your wall.”

Cas pretended to consider his offer, chewing on pancakes.

“Hmm… make it a Van Gogh and you’ve got a deal.”

Dean pointed a fork smeared in syrup at him.

“Done.” He noticed the syrup, and licked it off.

It was like Dean had somehow woken up in a mirror world, one where he wasn’t Dean Winchester, 29, mechanic, who lived in an apartment alone. In this world, he was Dean Winchester, 29, mechanic - or maybe singer, actually - who was staying in an apartment for a little while in domestic bliss with a guy he was slowly, or maybe not so slowly, falling for a little more with every goddamn moment. 

“You busy today?” he asked, through another mouthful.

“Not really. I didn’t plan anything much during the time I was going to be staying here,” Cas said. “It’s just a short break.”

“Right.”

A short break. Dean swallowed hard. He’d almost forgotten that they were on a time limit. 

Cas joked and talked with him until they’d finished eating, and then Dean checked the time on his phone and stood up.

“Work time?” Cas asked.

“Mergh. I don’t wanna.”

“You like your job, though?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, and he sounded as though he were trying to convince himself more than actually believing it. “But I like hanging out with you more.”

“Well, my only plan for today is to go find Christmas shopping,” Cas said. “So maybe we could meet up later, or something.”

“Hell yeah. I get off work at five. I can meet you downtown?”

“That sounds good. I’ll text you where I am.”

“Cool. You want me to drop you anywhere before work?”

“No, no. I’ll take a taxi.” This time, Cas sounded firm. “I need to stop by my hotel first and get some things. Oh…” He’d looked down, and apparently only just remembered that he needed to get dressed. “Sorry, do you need me to leave at the same time as you? I’ll get out of your clothes -”

“Nah, nah, you’re good, don’t rush. I got a spare key you can use.” Dean grabbed it out of the drawer under the counter, and slid it towards Cas. “Just lock up before you leave… lift the handle up and turn the key left. It’s easy. I can pick the key up from you later.”

“If you’re sure,” Cas said, eyeing the key as though it were made of diamonds, somehow of infinite value.

“Well,” Dean said, “you already know about the art theft, so there aren’t really any more secrets left that you could discover.” He started to head out of the kitchen, making for the door. His feet were dragging, but he knew he had to go. Cas followed him out, walking him to the door. “I’ll see ya later.”

“Have a good day at work.”

Dean closed the front door behind him as he left. Should he have... kissed Cas goodbye, or done more than just walk away? Oh, god, he hadn’t even - Dean turned back around, and unlocked the door, and poked his head around. Standing right there, as though he’d  just been looking after Dean, was Cas.

“Hey,” Dean said.

“Hello. Do you come here often?”

“Now and then. Thanks,” Dean said, “for the breakfast.”

Cas smiled.

“It was a pleasure.”

Dean wanted to kiss him, reach out, do  _ something.  _

“Maybe I don’t have to go to work,” he said. “Maybe I could just stay here all day with you.”

“You have to go to work,” Cas said, but he was still smiling. “Go on, go.”

“But I could juuuuust…” Dean slid a little further back into his apartment; Cas reached out a hand to block him, and then pushed him by the shoulder out the door. His hand, though - Dean’s breath half-stopped - his hand didn’t let go, holding onto Dean’s shoulder. And when Dean was outside the door, Cas in the doorway, Cas’ fingers traced their way up a little higher to brush against the side of Dean’s neck.

Dean reached, pressing his hand against Cas’, fitting his palm to the back of Cas’ hand. Their gaze held. Cas was swaying slowly, and ever so slightly, forwards. Dean lifted his chin, the hunger for this moment flaring red and brilliant in his chest, and -

“Hey!” yelled a rough, jarring voice from down the stairs. “Hey! Don’t fucking forget the marinara sauce this time!”

“I fucking  _ won’t, _ ” screamed back another, higher voice from further away. Dean snorted, and Cas pulled away, the moment gone.

“See you later,” Dean said ruefully. 

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean turned to go, but he looked back as he headed down the stairs. They watched each other, eyes locked, until the last possible moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams fists on the table* PANCAKE FLUFF. PANCAKE FLUFF. PANCAKE FLUFF.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this one guys!!! The brownies last week turned out lovely. This weekend I'm going to Pride in London!! For the first time ever!! I hope you all have a great weekend and you feel the queer vibes radiating out of the big city. <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why hello, and may I take this opportunity to formally welcome you to the HEFTIEST BOI of a chapter. Actually, I'm not sure this is the longest one I've posted, but he is a big boy, a good boy, a good weighty boy, and I hope you enjoy! The next one will go up in a week just as usual, the 19th of July. Until then, friends and enemies! <3

Dean spent a good half of the day in a kind of glowing haze. 

He kept catching himself going back to the mindset of his real life - thinking about how he’d leave work, go home, make food, have a beer, maybe another one, and half-sleep on the couch until he stumbled through to his bedroom and slept until morning, when he’d wake up and do it again. And then his brain would remind him,

_I’m meeting Cas for dinner._

_Cas stayed over at my place last night._

_Cas likes me._

“You’re lookin’ happy,” Bobby said, as he swung by to check on how Dean was doing. “Easy fix?”

“Nope,” Dean said, but he was still smiling. “It’s a mess in here. But I’ll get her working.”

“Sounds good. But you’ll be takin’ your break now. It’s past lunch.”

Dean dropped his wrench, wiping his hands on his orange overalls and closing up the hood of the old Nissan that he was working on. He hadn’t noticed the time passing, but now that he stopped working and thinking about Cas for two seconds, he realised he was starving.

“I wanted to talk about your contract,” Bobby said. 

“My contract? Bobby, c’mon. I already told you, I’m not going anywhere -”

“Ha. Yeah. No, no. I gotta redo some paperwork, it’s new regulations. Not urgent but you could think on it, if you want different hours.”

“Oh. Gotcha.”

“Mmm. Get your lunch.”

Dean headed for the little office in the garage, which had the little fridge where he and everyone else who worked at the garage stored their lunch. This morning, he’d only remembered he even needed lunch when he was almost at work, so he just had a crappy, pretty limp-looking sandwich from the little indie coffee shop further down the street, the best he’d managed to pick up for himself.

He bit into it. Maybe it was just his good mood, maybe it was because he was so hungry, but somehow the sandwich tasted amazing. He pulled out his phone idly, and then remembered that he had a text from Sam, and almost choked on his mouthful. He’d been so wrapped up in thinking about Cas that he’d completely forgotten. He swiped it open with his heart thudding thick against his ribs.

_ > Hey, can you come early for xmas to help cook? We’ve got more coming than I thought. _

He didn’t know. Dean was still safe.

But that couldn’t last. Dean had to tell him about the video, and - if he wanted Cas to come for Christmas, which he did, he _so_ did - he had to come out, too.

He read over the message from his brother, chewed pensively for a few seconds, and then fired off a quick affirmative reply. He scrolled a little way up their message chain, reading over what they’d said to each other over the past few weeks: boring, functional texts, just arrangements and logistics. Nothing deeper than _can you call_ and _I’m at work,_ nothing that even remotely could lead up to Dean calling later and coming out. It was going to be awkward, horrendously awkward. And that was at best. At worst, it was going to be the day Dean lost his brother.

He cleared his throat. That was a bad train of thought. Sam got off work at four, he knew, and usually went straight home, so if Dean called him after his work ended at five, then he’d probably pick up. That would probably be the best time to ring him and ask about Cas, and tell him about - everything. 

He didn’t want to do it, and also just wanted to get it over with. Either way, he wanted to be able to tell Cas for sure at dinner that he was welcome to come for Christmas.

He went back to his list of new messages, and tapped open the other chain with an unread notification.

 _ > i ate... two whole boxes of thin mints in one go _ _  
_ _ > i’ve seen god and she’s minty fresh _

Dean snorted at the texts from Charlie, and typed out a slower reply.

_ < god is a toothbrush _

A reply pinged back immediately.

_ > can i come visit you in like an hour?? _

Dean frowned.

_ < I’m at work _

_ > no shit _ _  
_ _ > i mean can i come to the garage _   
> tell Bobby i’ll bring snacks

_ < what’s up? _

_ > jhghghh do not play it cool with me _ _  
_ _ > the auditions video where you literally sing an a cappella love song to cas in the wings is what’s up _   
> literally it’s up on youtube and i’ve watched it only like five thousand times already

 _ < oh shit. the video. I haven’t even seen it. _ _  
_ _ < do I look fucking ridiculous _

_ > u look and sound like apollo himself came alive and sang through u _ _  
_ _ > gay asf,, and also amazing _

_ < oh god fuck. shit _

Dean didn’t even entirely know what he was panicking about, but he could feel his chest going tight again. He braced himself against it as best he could, holding his breath and clenching his fists in case that would help, but it didn’t seem to. While one part of his mind started to sink into fuzzy panic, the other half watched it with a groan of _seriously, again? Why?_

Why would it be a big deal that Charlie saw the video? Or was it just the reminder that the video was there to be seen, by anyone? The video of him apparently channelling godlike levels of homoromanticism? But Cas already knew that Dean liked him, so that wasn’t the problem - and Sam, well, Sam would almost definitely have sent a text if he’d seen the video, but he didn’t follow online trends as much as Charlie did anyway. Dean couldn’t hold his breath any longer, and when he let it go, he realised his chest was starting to heave ever so slightly. It wasn’t so much his crush being revealed to the people close to him that was making his breath come fast; it was more a general sense of utter terror at half a million people - more, now, surely - having seen him being totally head over heels for Cas. Being queer. And singing.

_ > i’ll be there in an hour don’t freak out _

Dean snorted when he read Charlie’s text, and shot back a quick reply.

_ < I already freaked out _

_ > don’t even do it boiiiiiii _

_ < no I mean like, yesterday I already freaked out _ _  
_ _ < and now I am kinda doing it again _

_ > oh shit. you’re for real _ _  
_ _ > nooooooo it’s okay _   
> you want me to call u?

_ < I’m ok I should get back to work _

_ > okay _ _  
_ _ > i’ll be right there and i’ll be like freakin _ _  
_ _ > winona ryder. stranger things _   
> i’ll put u in an immersion pool and cradle ur head

_ < horrifying _

_ > u will love it. gotta drive i’ll be there in a bit don’t freak out i love you bye _

Dean swallowed hard, and closed his messaging app. So long as he didn’t look at it, he could pretend that conversation had never happened, right? He could go back to thinking about how great things were going with him and Cas, and just exist in that happy little bubble. He didn’t have to think about videos with hundreds of thousands of views, or concerts that were coming up, or the fact that he was going to have to tell Sam about the video as well as everything else and Sam was going to have to watch his big brother making heart-eyes at an international superstar.

His breathing was way too quick. Dean tried to steady it; he took slow, regular lungfuls of the little office’s gasoline-laced air and opened his app back up to send another text.

_ < how’s the shopping _

He sat and stared at his phone, his knees bouncing, his thumb scrolling the screen down uselessly to see a new message that hadn’t arrived. His heart was loud in his ears; the little office’s humming strip light was too bright and kind of wavy, and suddenly that sandwich wasn’t sitting so well inside him. He could feel himself starting to sweat. He hoped Bobby wouldn’t walk in, or any of the others who worked at the garage, because he didn’t want to have to explain any of this to any of them.

No reply, no reply. What if Cas were angry for some reason again, like he had been before he came out to Dean? What if this conversation that Dean was starting made him feel that way again? What if Cas wanted to walk out again? What if he really did walk out this time, what if not sending a reply was his way of walking out over text? The drop of fear was unexpected, a lower step down the spiral staircase of panic.

A text came back, finally. A picture. Dean waited for it to load, frowning - and then it downloaded, and his face relaxed. The picture was a selfie; Cas was holding a mug shaped like a giant cherry with a wannabe-cutesy-but-actually-kind-of-creepy smiley face drawn on it. Cas was eyeing it for the benefit of the camera, looking puzzled. Dean’s thumbs circled as he thought of a response.

_ < put that down you’re allergic _

_ > Too late. I’m on my way to the ER now. Remember me kindly. _

_ < I’ll give you the best eulogy _ _  
_ _ < here lies Cas. we’ll miss him cherry much _

_ > I am moved to tears at the thought. _ _  
_ _ > Or maybe at the beauty of that pun. _   
> How is your day?

Dean started to type out _yeah good,_ and then caught himself, and paused. He bit his lip. His breathing had evened out since he’d started talking to Cas, but only because he’d distracted himself - not because he’d actually dealt with any of the things that were on his mind. If he stopped talking to Cas now, he’d be right back where he started. He needed to talk about what was going on with him, deal with it, or something.

His overpowering urge, now, was to be honest. He swallowed hard, and then let himself be.

_ < just feeling kinda nervous about the video and the concert and stuff. _

_ > Me too.  _

_ < you too? seriously? you must be used to this by now. _

_ > In all honesty, I haven’t even seen the video because I was too nervous to watch it. _

_ < you’re kidding. me either _

_ > We should just watch it. _

_ < Charlie’s coming over to the garage and I think she’s gonna make me watch it _

_ > If you’re doing it, I can too. Let’s watch it and we can talk about it later at dinner. Deal? _

Dean made a conscious effort to relax his shoulders, his hands, his clenched jaw.

_ < deal _

_ > See you later on. _

Putting his phone away in his overalls, Dean stood up. He wandered back over to the car that he’d spent the day fixing, and picked his wrench back up in a kind of blur; he wasn’t panicking, now, but just feeling somewhere kind of outside of himself - as if his conscious mind, so used to the same routine every day and now being pushed to its emotional limits every other second, had just decided to take a vacation outside of his poor endorphin-rinsed brain. He floated somewhere near the ceiling of the garage as his hands worked on the car, feeling like a vaguely interested passenger in his own body. When someone tapped him on the shoulder, it took him what felt like an age to turn round.

“Dean,” Charlie said, her voice somehow jarringly loud and very far away, “you could’ve actually told Bobby I was coming. You know he hates it when I just turn up out of the blue. I had to promise him I’ll help him with the website again before he’d let me come find you.”

Dean stared at her. How was she here already? Had it really been an hour? It felt like five minutes.

“What?” he managed. Charlie’s eyes narrowed as she studied him more closely.

“Are you still freaking out?” she said, sounding suspicious, as though freaking out were some kind of crime that she was hoping to detect. Dean shrugged.

“I’m not… _not_ freaking out,” he said. “I’m just kinda…”

He waved a hand in front of his face, to try to demonstrate how he felt. It didn’t quite feel real to him that he was talking to Charlie, that she was there in front of him; it seemed as though any moment she was going to ask him to try on a wedding dress, or turn into an M&M, and he’d realise it was all a dream.

Except he wasn’t asleep. He was definitely awake. And Charlie was looking at him, a little lost. She reached out and patted his arm awkwardly. He shifted away, and she pulled her hand back.

“Sorry,” Dean said, “that was just -”

“No, it’s me,” Charlie said. “I’m bad at this stuff.” 

“No, you’re not, you’re fine…” Dean’s reassurances were thin, despite his best efforts. He tried to pull himself together, remember how to hold a conversation.

“You wanna just… talk? I’m a good listener.”

“I mean,” Dean said, aiming for a joke, “you do usually stop paying attention and start thinking about your own shit instead.”

His tone came out all wrong, too sincere, too heavy. He was wincing at himself from above before the sentence was even finished.

“Dude…” Charlie said, looking taken aback.

“Jesus. I’m sorry. I’m not, uh…” Dean swallowed, looking down at her, trying to believe that she was really there and what he said to her mattered, and he couldn’t just blurt out the first thing that came into his head, if it was going to be mean like that. He was trying to remember how to distinguish the difference between mean and funny, with a brain that felt as though it was limp and dead silent, but also yelling at him. “Maybe this isn’t a good time.”

“Look… I can go. But I don’t want to,” Charlie said, shoving her hands into her pockets. “I’m not always, like, clued in with feelings or whatever, but… I’m here for you, you know? We can get in that car you’re fixing and just… talk.” She smiled at him, but it was a nervous smile, no warmth in it. He’d upset her.

“Charlie, I don’t wanna - I’m sorry I said -”

“Shelve it,” Charlie said, but kindly. “Your stuff first. Get in the damn car.”

She opened the door for him. No one else was around in Dean’s corner of the garage to give them odd looks as they ducked into the shabby interior of the car, Dean sitting on the driver’s side and Charlie sliding into shotgun. When they slammed the doors closed, the car felt small. Dean could hear Charlie’s breathing, but it still felt as though he were registering it from far away, as if his mind was processing everything in the next room over from his brain.

“Spill, then,” Charlie said. “What’s up?”

Dean’s throat was thick and hard to talk through.

“I just… there’s a lot going on,” Dean said. “I’m, uh, gonna come out to my brother later. Like, later today. So there’s that. And also I told Cas that I like him and he told me he likes me, but he… told me something pretty personal before he did and he was so… he almost left, just walked away, he was so mad at me. And like, at the time I was just in, like, _deal with it_ mode but now I’m like, I don’t know. And the concert… and the video going viral and everyone knowing… and…” Dean broke off. He could feel, in a vague and absent way, that his heartbeat was speeding and his breath was coming short in his chest.

“That’s a lot of shit to deal with,” Charlie said.

“It’s just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This never happens. I never go all… I don’t know… I don’t do this shit, and now every other second I’m like, ugh.”

“Freaking out?”

“Yeah. Or whatever it is that’s happening now where I can’t even, like, believe anything is even happening.”

“Huh.” Charlie was watching him, but Dean kept his eyes forward.

“I just don’t do this,” Dean said. “I’m not this guy.”

“Which guy?”

“This… freaking out, feelings kinda guy. I don’t do this shit. You know that.”

“Well… yeah,” Charlie said. “I guess. But you’re also not the guy who sings at auditions, right? The guy who goes chasing after another guy he met at a club one night? The guy who’s actually agreeing to sing at a concert?”

“I know,” Dean said, gritting his teeth. “I mean, yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”

“No, I mean…” Charlie reached up a hand to brush her hair out of her face. “I mean, so, if you haven’t been that guy, then which guy have you been?”

Dean paused.

“Don’t know,” he grunted. “Mechanic.”

“Mechanic.” Charlie shrugged. “And that’s it?”

“No, I - I do stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean said, with a little burst of impatience that pulled him a little further back into himself than before.

Charlie held up a finger.

“Exactly,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter, right? None of it mattered that much.” She shifted so that she wasn’t looking at him anymore, and put her feet up on the dashboard of the car they were sitting in. Dean recognised the signs of her about to say something he probably wouldn’t want to hear. “Don’t get me wrong, you’ve been fixing cars and helping people and being a great dude and an awesome friend, and… I’m not saying nothing you’ve done has mattered, period. I’m saying none of it really mattered that much to _you,_ Dean. It’s like… don’t hate me for saying this. But it’s like you’ve been living your life at an amber stoplight these past few years. Not stopped and not ready to go. You know? Not putting your whole… thing… into anything that matters to you, so you didn’t have to feel shit about it? But this… singing, and Cas, and coming out to Sam… this matters to you, right?”

Dean swallowed, still taking in what she’d just thrown at him.

“Uh… yeah. I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, obviously,” Dean said. “Obviously.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m just…” Dean said.

“Scared?”

Dean looked over at Charlie. Her bright red hair, impish face, expression of concern. For the first time since she’d arrived, Dean felt like he was actually with her. She was real. He was real. He exhaled.

“Out of my damn mind,” he said. Charlie nodded. 

“How come?” she asked, like she already knew the answer, but she wanted to let him talk about it.

“Like… shit, what if I come out to Sam and lose him. Literally this afternoon, I could lose my brother. He could be just… gone. Never want to talk to me again. Fuck. And then maybe I say the wrong thing to Cas, and he walks out, and he gets mad again, and I lose Cas too. And even if I don’t, he’s gonna leave anyway after the concert to go on the rest of his tour.” Dean took a deep breath in, and then let it go, slower this time. “I don’t know how to not freak out. I literally don’t know how to stop it. Except for maybe going back to doing what I’ve been doing all this time, but it feels like that’s been wrecked and I can’t go back because I know Cas is out there now and if I try to go back to just a normal life without him, I don’t… shit, I don’t know if I can. And even if I _could,_ like… with Sam… now that I’ve thought about it, I’ve realised how crappy it feels to have been keeping this whole thing, this part of my life, from him, all this time. Just - everything feels like it’s gonna go to shit if I go forward but I can’t go back.”

The words felt like smoke burning its way up his throat, billowing out into the car, siphoned out of his heavy chest. When they were out, he felt as though he could breathe a little easier, though the atmosphere in the car was thick with their hanging weight.

“OK. Well. First. Did you talk to Cas about him getting mad?” Charlie asked quietly.

“Nah. I mean - just to say that it wasn’t a big deal.”

“If you feel like it was a big deal now, dude, you should tell him. He’d want to know.”

“I don’t want him to get that angry again just because I brought it up. Like, OK. If he’s mad at me then I want him to be able to like, be mad at me, you know? But when I thought he was gonna leave, I just - like, earlier, I was texting him and thinking, like, _shit,_ what if I’ve started a conversation that’s gonna take us down that road again?”

“You should talk to him,” Charlie said, with more certainty. “Seriously. I mean, everything else is good, right?”

“Yeah. Really, really good.”

“You don’t want this to build up into something bigger,” Charlie said. “Talk to him. Just… trust him enough to talk to him. If you don’t trust each other enough to talk about stuff, it’s not gonna go well.”

Dean tapped his fingers on the bottom of the steering wheel, thinking.

“And I don’t think you’re gonna lose Sam,” said Charlie, and from her tone of voice Dean could hear how carefully she was choosing her words. “I really don’t. He’s your brother. I know there’s been ups and downs between you two but I’ve met him those couple of times and he was super nice, and he knew I was gay.”

“Different when it’s family,” Dean pointed out.

“I know.” Charlie seemed uncertain of where to go. “I just… I think it’s gonna be okay. It sucks that you have to worry about it at all but I think it’s gonna be okay, Dean. And if it’s not, you’ve got a bunch of people who have your back, and I’m first in line, okay? Me, and Jo, and everyone at The Refuge, we know how this shit goes. We have you.”

Dean felt his mouth twitch, and he bit his lip. Part of him felt better that he wouldn’t be on his own if Sam didn’t want to see him anymore, and part of him hated that he even had to make that kind of contingency plan in his mind.

“I guess you never know until you know.” Dean looked over at her, and smiled. “But thanks.”

“Did, uh… so, the thing, the personal thing Cas told you? Did you… was it the thing about how he likes to date?”

Dean, finally putting two and two together, felt his mouth drop slightly open.

“Wait - you know?”

“You do too?” Charlie said, and then seemed to sag with relief. “Oh, thank God. I didn’t want to tell you before he did, but also I didn’t want you to make a move on him and have him freeze up and not know how to explain it, and then things would get weird and it might have screwed up something good for you both, and also if you didn’t know what asexuality was then I wanted to explain it to you… I didn’t know what to do. God, I’m so glad you know.”

“I knew about asexuality already. But, uh… did he tell you himself? I thought he hadn’t really told anyone.”

“He was just starting to figure himself out when we were at school, senior year,” Charlie said. “He was confused a lot of the time so he used to talk to me and our friends about it sometimes. And then he figured it out and things got better in some ways and worse in others, honestly, because other people can be dicks.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. So, but… he’s told you, and things are still good between you? I mean, like, as far as you’re concerned?”

She was eyeing him narrowly again. They’d already talked about how things were a little complicated between them after Cas had got so angry, but Dean could tell that wasn’t what Charlie was getting at. He met her gaze steadily.

“Things are good,” he said.

“Are you sure? Because I had to watch people screw him over in high school and I swear to God, Dean, if you hurt him over this… Wuxi Finger Hold. Not kidding.”

“No. I’ve thought about it and it doesn’t change anything for me. Except I know not to try to make a move or something like that.” 

“Totally.”

“Honestly, it would feel off, anyway, though. Trying to make a move like that. There’s a reason I didn’t already try, before he told me he was asexual. Like… remember when I was dating that guy, and I kept just hugging him when we said goodbye and never trying to, like, initiate anything and I was beating myself up and kept thinking I was being a total fucking loser?”

“Aww, yeah, I remember.”

“But then he came out to me as aromantic when he broke up with me and I realised that all along I’d just been kinda trying to give him what it felt like he really wanted. It’s like that, kind of. My gut knew first.”

“Wait, wait, wait, that guy was aro? Damn, that makes so much sense. What happened to him? I liked him. What was his name?”

“Nick. Moved to Canada with his best friend. He sends me pictures from his farm.”

Outside the car, he could see a couple of the other mechanics moving around, finding tools. He hoped none of them would come over to see if everything was okay; he was just about handling having one of the very few deep and meaningful conversations he’d had with Charlie, and if they got cut off, he knew they’d never get back into the zone.

“Oh, that’s cool. But Dean… it’s not the best example, right? ‘Cause when you were with him, you weren’t happy. I remember you asking me what you were doing wrong, ‘cause he never seemed to want to, you know, do anything kinda cute with you, but he didn’t break up with you.”

“It was different,” Dean said. He reached out and flicked on the blinker of the car absently, but it did nothing while the keys weren’t in the ignition. “He didn’t know he was aro so I had no idea what was going on, and I couldn’t ask him about it. That was mostly why I was unhappy, really, I just didn’t get what was happening. Whereas with Cas I know about him being ace. I can talk to him about it, we’ve already talked about it. And anyway, with Nick, I mean - I liked him, he’s great, but it didn’t - he wasn’t Cas.” He flicked off the blinker. “None of the people I’ve dated have ever been Cas.”

“Yeah… ?” Charlie said.

“Like… I don’t know. There’s something about, uh. I don’t know, man... like… he means a lot to me, I guess.” Pretty poor way to try to explain it, but the more Dean felt about Cas, the less he felt able to put it into words. It was trying to explain the sun with a flashlight.

“But can you be happy with him? Like, will it be enough for you?” Charlie pressed.

“What? Yes.”

“But can you actually go without sex, like, indefinitely? Seriously, Dean, this is not the kind of thing you wanna figure out six months or a year down the line.”

Dean was starting to glower, but he tried to keep his cool. 

“I mean… I haven’t dated anyone in forever and I’ve hooked up, what... once in the last year? And I haven’t, like, died.”

“But won’t it be different when you’re trying to be, like, close… I mean, when you’ve got someone you really like, and then you can’t… I don’t know, you’ve never dated an ace person before, and I just...”

“Okay, dude, look,” Dean said, “I get why you’re asking, but also, you’ve literally never asked me anything like this about anyone else I’ve ever dated.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Am I gonna miss what’s not part of the relationship? Is that what you’re asking? Like, you never asked me if the guy with the shaved head would be _enough_ even though I’d only gone on a date with people with hair before. Or if Pamela would be _enough_ , even though I’d never dated a blind person before.”

“I mean - but - it’s different,” Charlie said uncomfortably.

“Not to me,” Dean said flatly. “I like sex but I don’t want it with Cas. I just want Cas. And I like Cas. If you asked me right now if I wanted to hook up with a stranger or chill with Cas, that’s not even a choice.”

“What about if they weren’t a stranger,” Charlie said. “What about if you meet someone you connect with like you connect with Cas, except they’re not asexual?”

Dean could feel his temper rising.

“If they’re not ace,” Dean said shortly, “they’re not Cas. Thanks but no thanks.”

“You’re not… it’s a hypothetical…”

“I know,” Dean said, snapping now. “I got it. And I’m telling you, not interested. Jeez, first Cas, now you - why is everyone so keen to hear me say that being with him wouldn’t be enough for me?”

There was an awkward pause, and then Charlie said,

“Sorry. I just want you to be really sure. I’m serious about what I said, with people messing him up in high school.” She swallowed. “I just don’t wanna see you become that guy, Dean. If you’re gonna do or say something crappy, I’d rather you did it here in this car with me than out there with him.”

Dean relaxed, ever so slightly.

“It must have sucked to see him get hurt.”

“You don’t even know. One day, let’s go find the people who screwed with him and torch their cars.”

“Hmmm.” Dean stroked his chin, pretending to think it through, letting the tension between them ease. “Yeah, as long as we get to wear cool masks. Like Zorro.”

“Bit culturally… meh… maybe.”

“Like Batman?”

“I’m into it.”

For a moment, Dean wanted to go down a sidetrack, tell Charlie all about the conversation he’d had with Cas about Batman being bi and how it had slightly blown his mind - but he filed it for later. He didn’t want to lose the thread of what they’d been saying, didn’t want to leave any room for doubt.

“Look… I just wanna say, I get what you’re saying, about, like… what if someone comes along in the future who I feel the same way about, only they feel the same way about sex as I do, more or less. But the thing is, like. I’m twenty-nine years old. And the way Cas makes me feel, like… literally has never happened to me before.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

“I’m serious. It’s like a… thing,” Dean said, getting more awkward with every word, but he needed Charlie to know this. He needed her to trust his feelings, like he trusted them - absolutely and completely. He hated seeming flighty, or shallow, in her eyes. “My, like, my - like, it feels so fucking good to be around him. It’s just… it feels like the kind of thing you read about. I never thought people actually _felt_ this way about other people. I thought we all just kinda went through the motions and hoped the feelings would follow, and sometimes they do and sometimes they don’t. Like, yeah, I’ve wanted to be with people before, I’ve been attracted to people before, had strong feelings before, but like. This is that, but in overdrive. Taken to the next level.” He waved a clumsy hand. “That’s not poetic, but whatever. You get it. It was like a lightning strike. And you know what they say about lightning striking.”

“Gives you a cool scar,” Charlie said.

Dean snorted.

“Right,” he said. “Also it doesn’t happen twice. But if Cas had given me a cool scar, I’d honestly be okay with that.”

“I’ve thought for a long time that it’s really the only thing missing from your vibe.” Charlie grinned. 

“Seriously. But - and like, apart from the feelings... things… I dunno. Like, if - this is totally getting ahead of myself, okay, I know. He’s leaving and it’s not gonna last past a month, I know that, I know that. But I’ve been thinking about it all day, right. And if something serious started between me and Cas... something long-term, I mean... that means it’d be about more than feelings. It’d be about commitment and choice and shit. ‘Cause feelings can change and get less or get more, right. It always goes in cycles. You hit lows and highs. And in the past when I’ve hit lows, either the person has quit on me first, or I’ve quit on them. But with Cas…” Dean shrugged. “I wouldn’t quit.”

Charlie had her lips pressed together, her eyes sparkling like something was funny.

“What? Wh- oh. Oh, God.” Dean closed his eyes. “Just say it.”

“ _I ain’t quittin’ you!”_ Charlie said, with appropriate levels of drama.

Dean shook his head, trying not to laugh with her, and failing. Once they’d started, it was hard to stop; Dean covered his mouth with his hand, trying to press the smile back and be serious, but Charlie was outright giggling beside him.

“Fuck,” Dean said, but lightly, and it made Charlie snort.

“Oh, God. That was good. But hey. What you were saying… it’s good to hear. That’s good stuff. I’m happy for you, dude.”

With a grunt, Dean shrugged it off. “It sounds good until you realise that it’s probably just gonna end up with me sitting in my apartment in two weeks, not having any idea what to do with myself, while Cas is off singing in Chicago or wherever his next tour date is.”

“San Francisco,” Charlie said. “I checked.”

They sat quietly for a few moments.

“Hey, Charlie… what I said earlier, about you not being a good listener…”

“You were upset, dude. It’s okay.”

He could have left it at that, but her smile was still a little thin when she thought about it. Dean looked at her, and shook his head.

“I’m sorry I said that,” he said. “I meant it as a joke but it was a real bad one. It’s not true. You just listened to me talk for forever. Case in point.”

“It is true sometimes,” Charlie said bracingly. “Not in possession of the longest attention span over here. And I think I can make things about me a little bit when they’re not.”

“No, no. No. Seriously, Charlie. I mean it. It was just a bad joke.”

“Well. Probably just stung because I notice myself doing it, and… just, like, it’s never ‘cause I don’t care what’s going on with you, you know? I just go off-track. And then I come back around and I’m like, crap, we just spent twenty minutes on my tangent thing when we were supposed to be on you, and… yeah. I’m not gonna do literally that thing right now by going on about this, way too meta, but… yeah. Just wanted to, like, yeah. I’m saying _yeah_ so much.”

“Look,” Dean said. He looked over at her, dipped his head to catch her eyes. “Dude... you came all the way over here and talked me out of whatever was going on with me. I, uh. Never would’ve doubted that you care. And I’m sorry about the joke. Seriously. You… I mean we… I mean, I hope we’re cool, because, like… yeah.” The atmosphere in the car was awkward, now - they’d never really done this, never spoken about their own relationship much. Dean put on a higher, slightly nasal voice. “Charlie Bradbury, you’re my hero.”

She shook her head.

“A Ferris Bueller reference in the year of our Lord and Saviour, twenty-nineteen,” she said. “Consider me appeased.”

“Lord and Saviour?”

“Janelle Monáe.”

Dean nodded, accepting this. Charlie put her head on one side.

“Did you wanna talk any more about stuff?”

For a second, Dean flipped mentally through their conversation. Him panicking and why it was happening, Cas being angry and how they should talk about it, coming out to Sam and it being okay - hopefully. Cas being ace and what that meant. There was more stuff he wanted to talk about, if he was honest; he wanted to say out loud how worried he was about what would happen when Cas left, and he wanted to tell her exactly how the conversation had gone down when Cas had been angry to see if she thought he was overreacting, and he wanted to explain to her about the concert and how he didn’t want to do it but he also didn’t want anyone else to do it or no one to do it, he _wanted_ to do it, only he didn’t, only he did…

They’d already talked so much, though. So much more than normal. And it had gone well. Dean decided to quit while he was ahead.

“I’m good,” he said, a little gruffly. “Thanks, though.”

“Anytime, dude.”

“Yeah. Well, you too.”

“Mhm. So,” she said, her tone shifting gears, driving them away from their reconciliation and down a different road. “About that video.”

“Hurgh.” Dean put both his hands on the steering wheel. He could see his knuckles press white through the skin on his fingers. “Right. I’d forgotten about that part. Completely. It was great.”

“Look, you don’t have to watch it,” Charlie said. “But I have it here.” She unlocked the phone in her hand, and sure enough a YouTube video popped up on the screen, all queued up to watch. She’d come prepared, Dean thought wryly. “I think you should probably watch it for the first time without me, honestly. So you can pause it or whatever, and not have to, like… think about what I’m thinking about when you watch it… just think your own thoughts. It’s how I watched the Harry Potter movies for the first time and I guess this is on the same level of importance, so.” She put the phone up on the car’s expansive dashboard. “I’ll just leave that there. And I’m gonna go and talk to Bobby about his dumb website. And you can come find me when you’re ready.”

Dean, frozen with his hands on the steering wheel, gave her a weak nod.

“You don’t have to watch it if you don’t wanna,” Charlie said again. “But it’s there.”

She clunked open the car door, and left him. It felt jarringly sudden.

Dean watched her walk away, his heart in his throat.

For a while, he just stared at the phone. It lay, innocuous and silent, on the dash. He could make out the thumbnail of the video - a shot of Castiel in his mask, blown up to be full-screen - and a white triangle in the centre that he could push to make it play.

Had Cas already watched the video?

Dean breathed out, a little shakily.

“Ha,” he said, quietly. “Haaaaa. Okay. Yeah. I can do this. Just pick up the damn phone and watch the dumb video.”

His hands were still on the wheel, locked in place.

“Just pick it up.”

The seconds ticked by.

“Pick up… the phone.”

He wasn’t going to be able to do it. He was never going to be able to just reach across and grab that phone. He was never going to see that video. He was never going to -

The screen on the phone tinted slightly darker, as if it were about to shut off and lock itself. Dean lunged for it, tapping frantically on the screen to keep it on. The screen brightened, and he was looking at the thumbnail from close up.

He had the phone.

“Okay,” he said to himself, trying to sound light and unbothered. “Okay. Got the phone. Looking at the video. How many hits does it - fuck. _Fuck._ You are kidding me. Okay. Just gonna full-screen that crap again. Yup. There we go. Let’s pretend we never saw that.”

 _One million,_ said his brain. _One million hits._

“Shhhhhhhhut the fuck up,” Dean half-sang, half-said. “Okay. I mean. We’re here now.”

His finger hovered over the white triangle. He wasn’t ready. But a part of him _was_ ready, wanted to see himself sing - _fuck_ \- sing on that stage in front of everyone. After all… he’d won, hadn’t he? He couldn’t be that bad? Unless this was all some kind of elaborate joke…

He breathed out sharply. Enough thinking. Time to press play.

He hit the triangle.

 _“Problems with incontinence? Not any more,”_ said a soft, feminine voice, and Dean blinked as though he’d been hit. Light, jingly music was playing. No option to skip the ad; this was a full thirty-second deal. _“Our pads keep you feeling fresh, clean, and miraculously dry throughout the day.”_

Dear god. He hoped YouTube didn’t do too much targeted advertising, because if they did, he was learning a lot more about Charlie than she would have wanted him to. He was sure she’d figured out how to turn that crap off by the time she was three, though. On the screen, a laughing white-haired lady was roller-skating in pale jeans, the camera trying to tastefully show off the miraculous dryness.

_“Wherever you go. We’re here for you.”_

The ad finally finished.

“Well,” Dean said. “Okay then.”

The video was buffering, now, a little circle twisting. 

And twisting. 

And twisting. 

Dean felt the sudden, intense impulse to throw the phone out the window, the tension too much. He remembered the phone didn’t belong to him, and repressed the urge.

With a sudden burst of music, at last - at _last_ \- the video itself began to play.

There were just some establishing shots to begin with. Dean watched them flick by with a Castiel track playing in the background, just some b-roll of the auditionees getting their makeup put on and chatting together in the theatre. Dean caught his breath as he saw himself for the first time; he was sitting and talking to Donna in the makeup chair, and looking surprisingly relaxed considering that he had no idea what he was doing at the audition at all. Had he been being filmed, then? He hadn’t even noticed.

There was a single shot of Cas - of Castiel - from the back, of him picking up his mask and putting it on, and then turning to look at the camera with only his mouth and chin showing.

 _“So,”_ said a voice that Dean hadn’t expected, and into a shot of the theatre walked a guy in a nice suit and open-necked shirt. One of the judges, Dean recognised, though he couldn’t remember the name. It was the one with the British accent and the blond hair. _“We’re here in Austin, Texas, to hold auditions for a real once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”_

The judge explained how the auditions would work, seeming to be talking incredibly slowly; the auditionees would all sing, they’d be judged, the best one would join Castiel to sing in his concert. Dean was half-tempted to skip ahead and find the part where he was onstage, but then a shot of Cas appeared on the screen.

 _“I’m excited,”_ he told the camera, the bottom half of his face showing, but even his eyes blanked out by the feathered mask above. _“Excited to see who might turn up today.”_

Dean’s heart seemed to stutter, and then give a double-quick thud in his chest. _Me,_ he thought. _Cas is talking about me._

 _“The singers have no idea that an unmasked Castiel is standing in the line with them,”_ the judge - Balthazar, hadn’t that been his name, something weird like that - said as a voiceover, while footage of them all lining up to go onstage played. The camera operators had been cleverer than Dean had realised; they’d captured shots always either with someone blocking Cas from view or else from behind where Cas was standing, over his shoulder. Cas hadn’t been wearing the mask, not at that point, but his face wasn’t being shown.

 _“Hey,”_ said Anna, and the camera saw her lean around Dean to look at Cas, who was just out of shot. _“I don’t think we met.”_

 _“Not yet,”_ Cas said. _“Nice to meet you.”_

_“Are you singing a Castiel song? Not everyone is.”_

_“Yes, I am.”_

_“Have you been a fan of his for long?”_

_“Oh… off and on,”_ Cas said. The camera zoomed in close on Anna’s face as she nodded politely, oblivious, and Dean found himself smiling down at the screen - at the joke the editing was making.

The teen singer, Patience, went out on stage; she looked even younger on camera, bright-eyed and nervous. Her voice sounded just as great as Dean remembered, though, and the video cut out before she started to get pitchy towards the end. Next came Meg, with her confidence and her moves. She was making eye contact with the camera as she sang; Dean hadn’t even realised where the cameras were. When Dean won, she must have lost her mind, Dean thought. She was a pro.

The camera came back to Anna, Dean, and Cas, standing backstage again; the shot was from behind them, the backs of their heads silhouetted against the lights on the stage.

 _“There are going to be too many good singers,”_ Anna said. _“Castiel will never hear me.”_

“Oh my God,” Dean said out loud, only now remembering them saying that. “He’s literally right there. Oh my God.”

 _“He might,”_ Cas said. _“You never know.”_

“Jesus Christ, Cas.”

 _“Ever the optimist?”_ the onscreen Dean asked.

_“Something like that.”_

This time, the camera cut to a close-up of Dean’s face. He was looking across at Cas, and his expression was - God. 

Dean swallowed hard. 

There was something in his eyes - there was a softness around his mouth, there was an intensity to him that was unmistakable. He looked smitten. Utterly smitten. The clip of his face lasted barely a couple of seconds, and then it was gone.

Dean double-tapped the left of the screen to rewind the video, and watched it again.

 _“Something like that,”_ said Cas’ voice.

That look. That smile. Dean hadn’t ever seen that expression on his own face. He found himself making it, now, in the car, at an invisible Cas to his right. Yeah, that felt - that felt familiar. That felt like the expression he usually wore when he was watching Cas. But when he wore it, it felt subtle, barely-there. In reality, caught on camera… it looked like _that?_

No wonder people were freaking out. Dean rewound again, watched the moment again.

 _“Something like that.”_ Smile.

Jesus.

He let the video play on this time. The singers went out there one by one; every now and then, the camera would focus in on the lower half of Cas’ face, his mouth and chin, as they sang. Dean wished, and wished hard, that Cas didn’t have to wear the mask, so that the camera could have captured his whole face - the way he looked at each person on the stage, his eyes so tender and touched and humbled. Dean hadn’t understood why he’d watched them like that, at the time. Now it made sense.

All of their conversation with Anna about Castiel’s music being good or bad had been cut; Dean wasn’t surprised - it was a little too near the bone for a light-hearted video like this one. Finally, it was Dean’s turn to sing.

He watched himself walk out onto the stage, and clutched Charlie’s phone tightly. 

The Dean on the stage was walking clumsily, like a lost duckling, blinking in the light; he looked panicked already, and that only worsened when he reached the microphone. Dean stared down at his past self, horrified by how easy he was to read. His eyes were wide, his jaw tense, his mouth a taut line. He had honest-to-God wrinkles of worry on his brow. When had he become so transparent?

The seconds ticked by in silence; the camera zoomed in tight to Dean’s nervous face. Had he really stood there in awkward, awful silence for this long, or had they edited it to make it worse?

The little Dean on the screen moved, finally. He grabbed for the microphone and whipped it around to face the side. That was right, Dean thought, he remembered turning to find Cas, to sing to him. The camera shot switched to a view from the wings, over Cas’ shoulder and out onto the stage, zooming in on Dean’s face as he looked at Cas.

Dean sucked in a breath.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said.

If he’d thought he’d looked at Cas intensely before, it had been nothing. _Nothing._ Now, in front of everyone at the theatre - and all the one million people in the YouTube audience - he was staring at Cas like _that._

There was a look in his eyes of… reaching. Of reaching out. He looked hopeful, he looked stricken, he looked scared. He was so obvious, so totally legible. He looked like he was watching the most beautiful and terrifying and wonderful thing in the whole universe. He looked like a little boy with a big crush. He looked embarrassing and blatant and afraid.

Dean stared down into his own eyes and thought of hands stretching for each other in darkness, grasping, longing. He thought of a car’s engine singing as she drove off a cliff. He thought of that single aching word at the end of the two-line poem that had been Dean’s favourite by Catullus: _excrucior._

How had it been translated? _I am tortured. I am crucified. I excruciate._

He looked like he was experiencing a pain that he wanted, or a pleasure he was afraid of. He looked so open. He looked...

Maybe he just looked like something out of an Enrique Iglesias video.

When Dean had made that face, in his own mind he’d only been looking at Cas. No more nor less than that. Apparently, this was what he looked like when he looked at Cas: both smitten, and devastated.

Dean could remember the way that Cas had looked back at him in this moment: steadily. Cas had seen this face, and had looked steadily back at Dean. He hadn’t been afraid. It hadn’t been too much.

 _It’s not too much._ Cas’ words from this morning echoed back, along with the press of his lips on Dean’s.

On the screen, Dean opened his mouth, and started to sing. 

As he’d remembered, his first line came out raspy and thin, terrible; the camera cut to the rest of the singers in the audience, showed Anna looking nervous for him and Meg making a face, while Kevin winced. Dean himself found his face screwing up in embarrassment. He had to pause the video, the shame flooding him.

“Oh, fine,” Dean said. “Cut out the bit where Patience goes out of tune, but leave that in. Don’t you worry. I mean. It’s the beginning of the song, so it’s not like you had a lot of choice, but… okay. Come on.”

He tapped play again. The silence before the second line seemed interminable, and Dean thought that it had to have been deliberately drawn out and made longer with editing - but then his little onscreen self was pressing his lips together, a new determination flaring in his eyes, and singing again.

Dean felt a shiver go up his back. Christ. If he’d closed his eyes, he wouldn’t have believed that the voice he was hearing was his own; it was sweeter, more lyrical, and more controlled than he ever heard it from the inside. He didn’t sound like a pro, no way, but there was something there, some edge of smokiness or some hint of shyness that made him sound…

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Dean swallowed. Now that he was finally seeing himself in the video, the part that he’d considered skipping to see at the beginning, he kind of wanted to skip past it. There was something both awful and also addictive about watching his own face, hearing his own voice. On the screen, he was still looking at Cas, because of course he was, and as he grew more confident his expression relaxed - but it never lost that depth, that reach. Dean was watching Cas like it mattered. Like it _mattered._

And it had, Dean thought. It had mattered. And it still did. 

It was raw and strange and oddly helpless to see his own emotion so clearly written all over his own face for everyone to see, but at least it was a true emotion. A real one.

The pauses in between lines were long and quiet, Dean’s voice alone filling up the silence, contrasting with the full sound of the backing track that all the other singers had had. His face, his voice, the odd silences, it made the performance resonate differently. Dean didn’t know if it was just because of what it meant to him, what he knew he’d been feeling at the time, but there was a kind of genuine yet complicated intensity to his singing; he could feel himself reddening as he watched himself, chest filling up at how much he actually _liked_ it. He liked how he sounded. It wasn’t perfect, but he _liked_ it. That felt so good, too good to be allowed - he should hate his own performance - but Cas would like that he liked it, Dean thought, and Charlie would like that he liked it. It was okay to like it.

When the song finally came to an end, and Dean breathed out a sigh of relief in sync with his counterpart in the video, the editors stretched out the hush again before finally letting everyone clap him.

Dean bit his lip as he saw himself disappear from the stage, and saw Castiel walk out to take his place. Face covered, of course. At last, with the mask on, the camerawork didn’t have to dodge him so carefully; Castiel stood front and centre.

And just like Dean remembered, he started to sing. His voice was incredible, clearly a cut above, its power and ease unmatched by any of the other singers. Dean wished, _wished,_ that the stupid mask didn’t have to be on. He wanted to see Cas’ face, his eyes. He wanted to know if Cas was looking at him while he sang the song, just as he’d looked at Cas. He wanted to know if Cas also looked half-desperate, half-overjoyed. He could guess - could picture the face that he thought Cas might be making - but he wanted to _know._

Castiel’s song was interspersed with shots of the singers, as they finally worked it out - finally realised that Castiel had been in their midst all along, listening to them perform. Anna grabbed Dean’s hand; he could remember the tightness of her grip, could feel it now like a phantom touch. He could see all of them whispering to each other. There was a shot of Dean, just him, mouthing the words _what the f-_ and then the camera cut away before he could visibly swear.

“Hey,” Dean said aloud, indignantly. “That wasn’t then.” That _what the fuck_ had been mouthed right into Cas’ watching eyes, when the song had been over.

The camera cut back to him, showing his face looking pale - almost chalky. It was bizarre, seeing the dawning confusion and the horror on his own features. Had it really been such a short time ago that Dean had had no idea that Cas and Castiel were one and the same person? It felt like he’d known forever, now, though he didn’t think he would ever be able to forget the swooping-stomach feeling of realisation. 

The song ended and the rest of the video passed by in a blur - Cas fading into the background and being cut out of shots, again, with his mask removed. Balthazar announced the winner, and Dean watched himself drop his head into his hands as celebration music played. It was too light and too joyful, when Dean knew he’d been far from happy - but everyone around him was smiling, everyone was clapping and congratulating him.

And then the video was over. It was done. He shut off the phone, and breathed out. Dean had finally seen what over a million other people had seen.

He got out of the car, a kind of silent snowstorm in his head, blanking out all thought. He caught snatches of his own feelings in the rush; _I looked at him like that - the singing didn’t sound bad - oh god, I looked at him like that._

He walked through the garage on legs made of air. When he reached the office, he saw Charlie sitting behind the desk, tapping at the mouse of the big old computer with its massive monitor and clunky keyboard.

“I’m like da Vinci working with Duplo,” she said.

“I watched it,” Dean said back. Charlie went still.

“And?”

“Fuck,” Dean said.

“Yeah-huh.”

“I look like a goddamn idiot. Who’s totally starstruck,” Dean said. Charlie opened her mouth, obviously trying to figure out how to reply, but he added, “That is kind of accurate, though. So I’m not mad. Just kinda… jeez. It was so obvious.”

“Did you read any of the comments?” Charlie said.

“Nah. No way.”

“You should.” Charlie smiled at him. “People love you, Dean. I don’t wanna freak you out so stop me if this is bad to talk about, but people are making fan pages about you. They’re changing their Twitter icons to your face. They’re writing fanfic.”

“Dear god.” Somehow, having seen the video, this wasn’t such gut-crushing news; at least now he knew what it was that everyone was seeing, what they were all reacting to and sharing and yelling about to each other. “But they - I mean, are the comments nice?”

Charlie reached out her hand for her phone, and Dean gave it to her. She unlocked it, and passed it back to him when she saw the video was still on the screen. 

“I mean,” she said, as Dean took it and began to scroll down, “they’re YouTube comments, so you have the odd troll, but…”

Dean, though, was already lost in reading.

 **NE1-witheyes** **  
** sooooo… dean and castiel… they’re gonna become a thing right… pls tell me…   
**b0b_sing3r_cw_writer** **  
**     naw theyre both dudes though

 **Magic Brian** **  
** I like Dean’s cadence where’s he from

 **Mr Fizzles** **  
** honestly so cute I think deans a little bit in love.   
**Daphne Allen** **  
**     they must have just met though **  
** **Mr Fizzles** **  
**         yeah but look at how deans looking at him. he likes him even b4 he knows the guy is castiel.

 **JeremyBearemy** **  
** okay but why is dean so legit good that i’m crying though   
**Jacintos** **  
**     this is the good place

 **the-ship-of-dreams** **  
** **4:01** look at the way he looks at him jfc is this allowed?   
EDIT: **8:17** ashausdhauidhaui the way he looks at him jfc is this ALLOWED?

The more Dean scrolled, the more he found similar comments - people saying they loved his singing, people freaking out about how he’d looked at Cas as he sang the song. There were some comments about everyone’s reactions when they realised it was Cas on the stage, how they’d all grabbed each other’s hands and jaws had dropped, while Dean had sat motionless at the end. Dean read through them for a few minutes, lost to the world, standing in the little office in the garage and totally unaware of Charlie watching him, or Bobby coming in to grab some paperwork and then leaving, or the hum and whine of the lights above.

When he blinked back to reality, Charlie was smiling.

He handed the phone back to her, throat tight, wordless.

It was still unreal. He couldn’t connect those people’s words with himself, his own singing, his own lived experience of the auditions - but he didn’t mind them all talking about it so much, now he’d seen them do it. It was kind of… kind of nice, in a way. They were just people getting excited about something.

Charlie glanced down at the phone, flicking back up through the comments.

“Mr Fizzles is right on the money,” she said, almost to herself. “They’re not too bad, right? The comments?” she said. Dean swallowed, reached for the voice that it felt like he’d lost.

“Nah,” he managed.

“Don’t lean into it too hard,” Charlie warned lightly. “People get put on pedestals and then knocked off. You see it all the time.” 

“Really?”

“That’s cancel culture, baby. But don’t worry about it. Just enjoy it while it lasts and they’re all freaking out about how you’re totally in love with Cas.”

“Totally in - no, what - what? No,” Dean said, the words out automatically, before he’d had time to think them through.

“No?”

“Jesus, Charlie, it’s barely been a week.” 

“Yeah-huh.” Charlie shut off her phone and looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“We haven’t even, like...” He made a vague hand gesture. “You know.”

“Watched the full Lord of the Rings extended editions back-to-back together?”

“Well... I mean, no, we haven’t done that, actually. But we haven’t talked about… I mean, we haven’t talked about anything serious.”

“No?” Charlie frowned. “Like, what?”

“Like, if we’re gonna date now, or if we’re, like, exclusive, all that kinda thing. He’s supposed to be leaving real soon. I just don’t wanna get ahead of myself.”

“Okay…”

“I mean, he said he likes me, and like… ugh, whatever, man. It’ll happen at some point, I guess. We’ll talk about it. I’m trying not to overthink it.” _Said the liar_ , Dean thought, having spent a good part of his day thinking entirely about their future, and what it might look like. Whether Cas could ever be content to come live in Austin. Whether he’d come back to visit often. Whether that could be enough time spent together for the two of them.

“Is it... I mean, but he’s said he likes you and stuff, right? That’s definite? I mean, _I_ know it is, but he’s said it, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, this time with certainty. Cas had said it, he’d said it. And he’d shown it, too. He could feel the crimson thorny petalled realness of Cas’ feelings, could feel the tension between them. Cas had kissed him this morning in a way that left no room for doubt about it: Cas was into him romantically, of that Dean was sure. “No, it’s just… shit keeps getting in the way. It’s never the right moment.”

“Did you kiss him yet?”

“Oh my god, Charlie.” Dean put his face in his hands. “You have never asked me that about anyone I’ve ever dated before. What _is_ it with you?”

“Cas is my boy! I love my boy. I wanna know you’re treating him right.” Charlie grinned up at him. “So… you have, then.”

“Shut up. I am _begging_ you.”

“Awww. Totally have.”

“Shut _up_. Why does the word kissing have to sound like that, anyway.”

“Like what?”

“Embarrassing.”

Charlie made a smoochy noise.

“Ugh. Gross. Either way, no more L word. It’s too soon.”

Charlie grinned at him.

“Are you sure?” she said, quickly unlocking and lifting up her phone, and pointing to one of the YouTube comments on the screen. “Because Mr Fizzles can sense when you’re being a liaaaaaaar.” 

“Mr Fizzles can sense my ass.”

Charlie snorted, and then checked the time on her phone, and made a face.

“I better get going. I’m gonna need to bring my laptop over to work on the website because this bad boy…” She tapped the top of the giant, ancient monitor with the flat of her hand, as though petting a beloved old horse. “... Just not gonna get the job done. And I gotta pick up some stuff at the store for Dot, she wants to bake tonight.”

“I can’t imagine Dorothy baking,” Dean said, as Charlie got to her feet.

“Believe it. She’s all action on the surface and a cake-making fiend underneath.”

“You two are perfect for each other.”

“Yeah. Tell her that,” Charlie said, and her smile was a bit frail.

“She’s not still all _I can’t be held down?”_  

“No relationships,” Charlie confirmed. “You know, not everyone gets a roommate who’s super cute and also into women but has sworn off love in the name of _having more adventures_. Just, not everyone gets that opportunity, you know. It’s a learning experience.”

“Charlie just lucky I guess?”

“Ha. Yeah.”

“And Gilda…?”

“I told you, man. Nothing happened and if anything were ever going to, Jo being mad put an end to that. I don’t wanna hurt her.”

“You’re a good kid.”

“I’m a grandmother. I’m the oldest lady in the world.”

“You’re an elf.”

Charlie lifted up her arms, reaching for a hug, as she moved around the desk; the gesture was cute, almost childlike. Dean folded her up tight, squeezing her, lifting her a little way off the ground.

“Scared about calling Sam?”

“Nah.”

“You’re gonna be fine,” she said quietly, sincerely, her hair tickling his ear.

“Mm. You’re the best, Charlie.” He put her down carefully, and she grinned at him.

“I know I am.” She punched him on the arm, the opposite side to the one she’d reached for when she’d first arrived at the garage and tried to touch him, and Dean had pulled away. This time, Dean only faked it being uncomfortable, acting like she’d wounded him devastatingly. “Let me know how it goes, okay? Swear? I’m gonna be thinking about you all evening.”

“I’ll let you know,” Dean promised.

“When are you gonna call him?”

“When I get off work. He’ll be free then.”

Dean glanced up at the clock. There were still a couple of hours. Plenty of time to think through what he wanted to say, make sure he had his thoughts all in order, check that he was ready. He tried to relax, to unclench his jaw. He could do this. He could do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HE'S ABOUT TO DO IT. HE'S REALLY ABOUT TO DO IT. HHHHHHHHHH. 
> 
> I went to Pride!!! It was bright and colourful and amazing and I saw a knight in full armour carrying a rainbow flag and an ace flag. I mean, what an absolute legend. There really weren't enough ace flags around the place so next year I'm going to have to get me one of those (though a few people did spot the ace and nb flags painted on my cheeks and were like !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and we shared a !!!!!!!!!!!!! moment). I'm rambling! Yes anyway. I hope everyone's week was a good one. Wish me luck with my forays into baking this weekend, I've got to make a birthday cake for my sister and I'm aiming for four tiers of chocolate orange deliciousness topped with orange buttercream. If I manage to pull it off I'm going to be like Kronk with his spinach puffs. ANYWAY. Have a good week out there!! <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's CRUNCH TIME FRIENDS and by that I clearly mean it's time to crunch on some biscuits, or cookies, or whatever you'd like to call them, because when we settle in to read a bit of fanfic it's nice to have a little snick-snack to accompany us. I'm going to be taking a short hiatus from posting just while I work on getting my DCBB draft ready for the deadline, so the next chapter will go up in two weeks' time on Friday 3rd August! <3

Dean sat in his car after work had finished with the world swirling strangely around him. He felt, as he so often had these past few days, oddly disjointed from his own surroundings; the outside of Bobby's garage, and even the interior of his car, seemed to belong to another person's life. He stared down at the phone gripped in his hand, and the name that was written on the screen - Sam - was the only steady point, the only thing that made sense.

And Dean was about to make a call that would, in essence, be taking a great swinging hammer blow at that fixed and sturdy and familiar thing. He was about to take his relationship with his brother and push it to see if it fell.

He felt numb and somehow also terrible.

"Sam," he tried saying out loud to the empty car, "Sam, I'm…" 

It wouldn't come. His throat stuck.

Dean's father had made his opinions on _that kind of crap_ all too clear when he'd been alive, and though his mother hadn't ever said the same, she'd never spoken up against John, either. How much of that had Sam absorbed? Dean was pretty sure that Sam wouldn't think of himself as homophobic, but Dean knew all too well how thoughts and feelings could lurk for years, only blooming into harsh blossom when confronted with an intense situation. Maybe meeting Charlie hadn't been enough to make Sam think twice, but Dean coming out… if anything were going to reawaken those old memories, unfurl the twisted vines of bigotry that had been planted so long ago, it would be that. It would be this moment.

The first time someone had come out around Dean, he'd been _so_ angry. Thankfully he'd not said anything bad to Jenna at the time, he'd played it cool - swallowed down the _shut up shut up you can't say that_ \- but it had eaten at him for weeks and he'd known she could feel it and he hadn't been able to stop it. It had taken him so long to trace the anger back to fear, and his fear to the danger and judgement that he'd been taught in just a few words and facial expressions back when he was small.

And now here he was, about to open himself up to the only other person in the world who had had the exact same grounding. Who had been taught just the same things.

He swallowed, and looked down at his phone. Sam, announced the screen blandly. And in half an hour it would still read Sam, just the same, but one way or another everything would be different.

He hit call. And then sucked in a deep breath and hung up before it had even rung once.

And breathed. He thought of The Refuge. He thought of Charlie, and Jo, and all his friends there. He thought of his guitar, propped beside his bed, now. He thought of Cas. He thought of all the parts of his life, all the treasured fragments, that he wanted to pull together and invite Sam to see. He wanted to give Sam the chance to know him, really know him. And he wanted - he grimaced - he wanted to give _himself_ a shot at having a brother who knew him.

He hit call, and didn't hang up immediately.

_Bzzzz._

Dean couldn’t do this.

_Bzzzz._

The ringtone was steady in his ear, his whole world shrinking down to its monotone song. He had one hand on the phone by his ear, the other gripped into a fist on his lap. His eyes roved over the quiet street in front of him without really seeing it, all his focus on the phone.

_Bzzzz._

Maybe Sam wouldn’t pick up.

_Bzzzz._

Maybe Dean didn’t want him to.

_Bzzzz -_

“Hello?”

Dean swallowed, just the sound of his brother’s voice like a punch to the stomach. Sam sounded like he normally did when he picked up the phone - just a little annoyed at being disturbed, but also a little pleased to get the call. Dean could hear it all in just that one word. He knew his brother. He’d _miss_ his brother, if this went wrong. His throat went tight, and he couldn’t speak. Was he really going to do this?

“... Hello? Dean?”

Dean cleared his throat.

“Hey - hey, Sam. Sorry, I’m here. What’s up?”

“Uh, not much.” 

“Yeah?”

“Just getting ready for Christmas. And trying to study for this test we’ve got in the new year. What’s up with you?”

“Oh,” Dean said. “You know. Not much. Uh.”

“Did you need something?”

Dean chewed his lip.

“Dean? Everything okay?” Sam’s voice was shifting into real concern.

“I just called to talk, actually,” Dean said.

“Oh, man. Did I do something?” Sam said, sounding as though he were only half-joking.

“No, no, it’s not you. It’s just, uh. It’s - like, uh. There’s something I wanted to tell you about, I guess.” Dean was making a fucking meal of this, and he knew it. He’d had hours to think it through, plan what he was going to say, and he’d wasted every single second in denial that he was really going to make this call. Hadn’t prepared a thing.

“Oh. Okay. Well, shoot.”

How did he begin? Did he just say it? Which ‘it’ did he say - the part where he could sing, or the part where he was bisexual? God. The silence was drawing out.

“Dean,” Sam said, “whatever it is, just tell me. If it’s something bad, maybe I can help.”

Was it bad? That really depended on how Sam felt about guys being into guys, and guys singing love songs to each other up on stages, with one of those guys being specifically Sam's own brother. Dean’s throat felt stuck. He wanted to hang up the phone. He wanted to hang up and drive away and go find Cas downtown and pretend that the whole world was completely still and safe and unchanging except for the two of them.

“Seriously,” Sam insisted. “What is it? Are you in some kinda trouble?” 

Was he in trouble? Maybe he was about to be.

“Did you kill someone? Because if you did, do _not_ tell me on this call. I can come meet you wherever you are, and we can find somewhere to bury the -”

“Shit,” Dean said, the tension breaking out of him in a laugh that was just a little too loud. “Sam, I didn’t kill anyone. What the hell?!”

“Well, I don’t know, do I?!”

Dean had a sudden flashback to himself assuming that Cas had to be a mafia crime boss, when actually he’d just been wanting to say that he was asexual. Was it possible that ‘assuming someone is in trouble with the law when they’re actually just super freakin' queer’ ran in the genes, he wondered.

Right now, it felt oddly good that Sam’s reaction to Dean having killed someone would be offering help in disposing of the body. It might feel less good in a couple of minutes, if telling the truth went badly, though, Dean reflected. Then he’d be presented with the fact that his brother would prefer him to be a murderer than a bisexual man. Prefer him to stab someone than sing.

Goddammit. He’d made the call. He’d come this far. He was sick of feeling guilty and panicky over this. He just wanted it done, one way or another, this thing - this lie, this secret - that had been hanging over him way too heavily for way too long. It was time for it to be enough. Time for it to be over.

“Dean,” Sam said. “You still there?”

Dean bit his lip.

“What if Batman was into dudes?” he said, the words spilling out suddenly, childishly, way too fast. 

He dropped his head, gently thunking his brow against the steering wheel. 

Years of thinking about it. Hours to prepare. A whole dictionary full of words in the English language that he could have used to broach this topic, and the way he’d chosen to go was that. Was Batman.

“What?” Sam said, and Dean could hear the laugh in his voice. But there was an edge there, too, of seriousness. Sam knew Dean well enough to know when a dumb question was just a dumb question, and when it was something else. Dean lifted his head up.

Since he’d started, he might as well commit.

“Well, I was just, uh, y’know, thinkin’. Like, what if Batman were into dudes. Maybe, uh. Maybe he’s gay, maybe, like, bi… like, bi or whatever.” _Subtle, Dean._ And the words were embarrassing, the concept was embarrassing, everything was so awkward and so embarrassing.

“Uh… okay… I mean, I guess it would’ve been a very different show,” Sam said, still sounding as though he were trying to make a joke out of it all.

“You think so?”

There was a pause.

“I guess not actually,” Sam said. “Dean, what’s this even -”

“Would you... like, you know how we used to watch together, but would you still have watched the cartoons? If he had been?”

There was a long pause. Dean could hear Sam breathing. He thought his chest might be about to explode. He wanted to hang up, wanted to throw away his phone, wanted to cry.

“This feels like… why are you asking?”

“I dunno.”

“Is it important?”

“Dunno. Yeah.”

“OK. I mean, yeah,” Sam said. “Batman is awesome. If he were into dudes… I’d still watch. That’d be cool with me. But like… why are you asking?”

Dean felt like he was going to throw up. Somehow, after all this time, he was here in this moment. This seesaw swinging second. It had rushed up on him after so many years of creeping towards it; suddenly, he was here. 

And this could be it. The last time he spoke to his brother. What he was about to say… Sam could hang up the phone after hearing it, and never pick up again. Never want to see Dean again.

Dean was quiet, and Sam let him be, this time. Through his mind were running images of Sam - just moments between them. As kids, Sam grinning at him with paint on his face. As teens, Dean showing Sam how to shave and them laughing themselves stupid. Having their first drink at a bar together. The time Sam had broken his leg and called Dean instead of an ambulance. The way they’d stood beside each other at the funeral for their parents, not touching, but keeping each other upright just by standing exactly beside each other and not moving away. Throwing potatoes across the kitchen at each other at Christmas. A thousand times they’d caught each other’s eyes down all the years and looked away smiling, because the look itself had been enough to share a joke.

“You know,” Dean said, trying to keep his voice steady, “while I’ve got the chance, I just wanna say that… you know… you’re my brother.”

“Yeah, Dean. I know.”

“No, but like -”

“No, I get it. You’re my brother, too.” There was a pause. “So just tell me.”

Dean took one last second. One last moment of silence. One last time to breathe as Dean Winchester, the guy who wasn’t out to his little brother.

“Sam, I’m bisexual.”

He felt all the air come out of him in a rush. 

Those three words that he’d kept locked, buried, secret - the words that had pushed against tight lips on long, quiet car journeys or at the end of phone calls or any time when he found himself alone with Sam - the words that had weighed on him, worried him, hurt him, twisted him. The words that he’d honestly thought he would never say out loud, in his life. He’d just said them.

Dean Winchester, who was out to his little brother, took a deep breath in.

There was silence on the end of the phone.

Total hush. Only the static breathed.

Dean felt tears threatening. Actual goddamn tears. At least he wasn’t panicking, just - just tears, just a tugging downwards at the corner of his mouth. He tried to push it away, closing his eyes and then screwing them up tight, fighting. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to hurt. If only Sam would say something, even if it were something bad. Nothing he said could be worse than silence.

_Don’t hang up. Don’t hang up. Don’t leave me._

“Dean…” Sam said, after an eternity. Two eternities. “That’s awesome.”

“Oh,” Dean said, the sudden half-choked sound out of his mouth before he could stop it, as though someone had hit him in the gut.

 _That's awesome._ The words echoed in Dean’s head, round and round, as he checked and checked to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood. Hadn’t misheard.

“Seriously awesome,” Sam said. 

Hearing those words was like suddenly floating away. Like taking a step and realising he was walking on the moon.

“You - you -”

“Dean? Did you get cut off?”

And a tear escaped. Goddammit.

“No,” he said, and his voice cracked. “I’m still right here.”

“Okay. Me too.”

There was a silence. Dean pressed the back of his closed hand to his mouth. He wasn't moving, but somewhere deep inside himself he was shaking, absolutely shaking. He’d done it - he’d done it, he’d _done_ it, and Sam was still here, he hadn’t hung up.

“Uh. Awesome?” Dean checked.

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“So… it doesn’t change anything?”

“Well. I mean... it changes things a bit,” Sam said, and Dean’s stomach dropped, but Sam wasn’t done. “Like... I’m not gonna ignore that you told me… and never bring it up again like nothing ever happened. Unless you want me to? But if you’re asking about whether we’re cool, like, that’s not even in question. I think it’s awesome.” There was a pause, filled with a slight rush of static. “You’re my brother. Of course I think it's awesome.”

Was this real, Dean asked himself. Surely this had to be wishful thinking, nothing more. 

“I mean, look, I - is that the right thing to say?” Sam added. “I don’t wanna screw up but however you feel, man, or like, whoever you are, I support it. If you even need that.”

Another tear.

“Shit,” Dean said.

“Oh, God - was that wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?”

“What? No, no. Jesus. I just - I haven’t told you this whole time because I thought you might…” Dean broke off. Even saying what he’d been afraid of out loud felt like tempting fate, despite the fact that the moment had passed; it still didn’t feel real enough to be safe.

“Dude. C’mon.”

“I know, I just… I didn’t want to…”

 _Lose you,_ were the words that went unspoken and clearly heard.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sam said steadily.

“But you didn’t… you didn’t know?” Dean said. “You didn’t suspect anything?”

“Suspect?” Sam said. "Like it's a crime? No, though... I hadn’t guessed.”

“Not even when I talked about Gordon Walker for, like, an entire semester of high school?”

“Gordon Walker the _quarterback_?” For the first time, Sam sounded less than collected; he sounded slightly delighted. “You liked him?”

“Dude. I made you come with me to every game he played.”

“I thought you just… really cared about football that semester…”

“Boy, did I.”

Sam snorted.

“Gordon Walker,” he said. “Man, you could’ve told me.”

Dean snorted.

"Yeah, right."

"You could've. For real."

Dean’s smile froze, and then fell.

“Nah,” he said.

“What?”

“You know I couldn’t. You were just a kid."

"So were you."

"Yeah, well. Sure, yeah, you could’ve handled it, but - you know, it had to be a secret. I couldn’t make you keep a secret like that from Mom and Dad.”

“I could’ve done it,” Sam said, stubbornly. Dean could see his face, his indignance, the same expression that he’d used to wear when he was tiny and insisting he could climb as high and run as far as Dean could.

“I know you could,” Dean said. “I know.”

There was a pause.

“It must have sucked,” Sam said. “I just don’t… it sucks that you had to do it alone.”

For a second, eyes closed, Dean let the memories of those times wash over him. The thrill of being around a guy he liked, the ache of self-hatred, the certainty that his parents were going to find out and punish him - the occasional reckless risk he’d take, almost begging to be caught, begging to be punished. And in the midst of it all, Sam, uncomplicated, his brother. His best friend.

“It didn’t feel that way,” he said. “It didn't feel like I was alone. I mean, sure, you were a little asshole, but I didn’t feel like I was on my own.”

“Right, right, because you’re an asshole too. Got it.”

Dean grinned. The tears had dried on his cheeks.

“God. I should’ve told you years ago.”

“You could’ve,” Sam said again, with a slightly different edge to it.

Dean was quiet for a few seconds.

“Yeah,” he said eventually. “Are you mad?”

“Dude. No. I just feel bad that, like, I wasn’t… like, I wish I’d seemed more like someone you could trust, I guess.”

“No, no… no. OK, listen. Honestly, the main reason I haven’t been telling you, it’s actually… it’s not because I really believed you were gonna wanna cut me off and never speak to me again.”

 _Easy to say now you know that’s not going to happen,_ said a little voice in his head that sounded as though it had its eyebrow raised, but Dean pushed it away.

“Jesus, Dean. It sucks you even had to think about… I’d never do that.”

“Yeah. I thought probably not. Or I hoped not. But the main thing was like, I’d already left it way too late. And you’d be kinda betrayed, or like… I dunno.”

Dean could hear Sam breathing for a half-second down the phone before he replied, and knew that he’d hit close to home. He pressed his lips together.

“I don’t wanna lie and say it’s not on my mind that I didn’t know before now if it’s really been years since you figured it out,” Sam said. “But it’s not about being betrayed, it’s just, like, seeing things differently. And now that I know… maybe a couple things will be different…”

“Things?”

“Yeah. Like…”

There was a pause. Dean could feel Sam battling to find a way to speak openly, truthfully, in the language that they always used between them - a language free of feelings. Factual, cut-off.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Sam spoke first.

“I’ve missed you, Dean,” he said. In a small voice, like he would have said it when he was four years old and Dean had stayed over at a friend’s for a night. 

Dean felt the four words like blades to the chest.

It all came crashing through him at once.

All this time pulling away, suppressing, hiding in his own house - keeping most of himself locked up behind plain and empty walls, thinking that Sam wouldn’t notice, Sam wouldn’t care, Sam wouldn’t see the difference because this was who Dean had always been to him, just a plain old car guy and not much more. But Sam had seen. Sam had known.

And Sam had missed him.

Unbidden, two more tears dripped down his cheeks. Dean struggled to make his mouth a shape that could speak normally, struggled to hold his voice steady. He gave a curt nod that Sam couldn’t see.

“Yeah?” he said, the single word spoken too fast, coming out sharply - like a dinner knife that slipped through his fingers and became a weapon.

“I just… you know… yeah, I guess, yeah,” Sam said, instinctively knowing - of course - that Dean hadn’t meant to speak harshly, and trying to soften the moment over with filling words, meaningless words, words like cushions to catch the fallen knife.

“I’ve been pretty distant,” Dean said, stiffly, but trying. “I’ve been kinda cold. There was a lot I didn’t want you to know. More and more as I got older, and I - the guilt over not telling you, and not knowing how to tell you, just...”

“I get it. It’s OK.”

“Must have been… pretty weird,” Dean managed. “For you.”

“Remember when we used to hang out?” Sam said, his voice still wound up tight.

“Hang out?”

“Dude. We used to hang out every day. Now I haven’t seen you, just to hang out, in… God knows how long. I know we chat when you need something or when I need something, and I know you got other friends now, and that’s cool, like - like, I guess… like, brothers, I mean, maybe it’s not healthy for us to always be, like…”

He was stumbling, trying to feel his way through a sentiment that Dean could tell he only half-meant.

“Sam,” he said, “you know you come first. Always have.”

Through all their half-spoken, clumsy sentences, somehow that was easy to say. It was such plain, obvious truth to Dean that it didn’t even feel like an admission.

Sam fell silent. Dean could feel the question that was going unasked, but which rippled through the quiet between them: _so am I the first person you came out to?_

It was so palpable that Dean couldn’t leave it unaddressed.

“It, uh. You know, it...  doesn’t always work that the people you’re most honest with are the people you care about most,” he said. “Actually, first person I came out to was a drunk old lady at a bar.” 

Sam snorted, and the tension melted just a touch.

“Oh, God, really?”

“Yeah, man. Because I didn’t give a shit what she thought of me.”

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“Well… she thought I meant I was a bigamist. Told me she didn’t mind, one of her cousins had married two women at the same time by accident and they were still on speaking terms.” 

“Yikes.”

“Uh-huh. But you get my point.” 

“Yeah, I get it. I do. There’s a lot more hanging on it when it’s someone closer, or whatever.”

“Exactly. It’s dumb but there it is.”

“It’s not dumb. And if I think about it for two seconds, I’m just feeling good that I know now. You didn’t have to tell me and I’m really… I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s throat stuck over it.

“Yeah. It’s always good to know when your brother’s a bigamist.”

“God,” Dean groaned, and they both laughed.

There was a moment of kind quiet.

“About how we used to… hang out…” Dean said.

He pressed his lips together, searching for the right words. He didn’t know whether to explain himself or apologise and leave it at that.

“We used to hang out every day when you finished work,” Sam said, and his voice had gone distant as he looked back at the memory, as though he were trying to be dispassionate. Dean looked up at Bobby's garage through the windscreen without seeing it. “I’d come pick you up from Bobby’s and we’d go to the Old Firehouse and play darts and just… you know… hang out. You started blowing it off a couple of times and then you just… stopped coming.”

Dean had no idea how to begin to tell Sam what had happened. How he’d found himself dreading those nights at the Firehouse, surrounded by dudes in trucker hats, framed pictures of mostly-naked women on the walls, and Sam asking him about what he was up to. And Dean both wanting and not wanting to say _well, I made a friend called Charlie who I met at a gay bar and she’s great,_ and _I sang karaoke last night at the gay bar for the first time and I think I was actually kinda not bad at it,_ and _there’s this guy I’m into right now and I’m meeting him later for drinks._ Instead, having to say, _not much, man, not much,_ and leaving the place hating himself. 

Hating himself for being a liar. And hating himself for being a person who had to lie, because his truth was embarrassing and shameful and awkward, or it had felt like that. Being around Sam in that bar had made it feel like that. He’d even tried bringing Charlie along to the bar one time to see if that would help, but even though Sam had been totally cool with it and everyone had been polite, it had been clear that Charlie wasn’t from that world - didn’t quite belong. And Dean… Dean could look like he belonged, but he couldn’t feel it.

He’d started having dreams where he saw his brother waiting for him at their usual table at the Firehouse, the rest of the place silent and dark - and then Sam’s eyes went wide and horrified at something Dean had just said, even though he couldn’t remember speaking. _I didn’t mean it, just joking,_ Dean said, but his voice didn’t make a sound, and then he’d woken up in a sweat. Sometimes calling out.

He’d been able to feel those evenings twisting him up, embittering him, darkening him.

And he’d stopped going. Hadn’t been able to explain why.

“We don’t have to talk about what happened…” Sam said awkwardly.

“Kinda lost my way with it,” Dean said into the phone, so full of feelings that he lost even the _I_ at the start of the sentence, just the first-person pronoun too much of an embarrassment, too much a testament to his humanity, his realness, his unavoidable existence. “It was like… it’s been a weird time. There’s been - I didn’t know how to...”

Sam swallowed audibly.

“Maybe we can go to a bar again some time,” he said. “Doesn’t have to be the Firehouse. Any bar you want. And just hang out. And we can talk about... what you’ve been up to.”

Dean breathed out. He could hear the offer behind Sam’s words: the offer to hear what Dean had really been doing all this time, without judging. The offer to be open with each other, more than they had been in a long time. Maybe even, after a while, the offer to be best friends again, in the way that Dean had missed even worse than he’d realised. As though he only knew the immensity of his emptiness when it started to be filled, and he heard the echo from far down deep.

“I’d like that,” Dean said, in a tight voice.

“Cool. Cool.” Sam’s voice was matter-of-fact enough that Dean could feel the happiness behind it.

“Actually, uh…” Clearing his throat, Dean steeled himself. He wasn’t done with the revelations, not yet. “Speaking of things I’ve been up to. I wanted to, uh. There’s something I’ve been doing lately, and… I dunno, it’s kinda dumb, it’s whatever, but I thought, since I’m tellin’ you stuff, uh.”

“Sure,” Sam said, though with a little trepidation in his voice. He’d thought that they were home safe, Dean knew. Thought that they were about to hang up, part on better terms than before. Maybe it would have been wiser to end it there, save the rest for another day. But Dean couldn’t imagine building up the confidence to make a second call - could already hear the tone of Sam’s voice when he said _you even called, and you didn’t tell me then?_

No. He had to do this now. If he didn’t, in all likelihood Sam would find out some other way before Dean could tell him. It had to be today.

“Dean?”

“There’s this concert,” Dean said wretchedly.

“Okay…” Sam paused. “What about it?”

“Well, I’m kinda involved with it.”

“Right…” There was another, longer silence, that Sam obviously expected Dean to fill - but Dean didn’t. Sam asked, “So, like a rock concert?”

Dean squinted out of the window, and wondered if there were any world in which Cas’ tunes could conceivably be categorised as rock.

“Not exactly,” he said finally, when the refusal to group Castiel and Led Zeppelin in the same genre overrode any other impulse. “It’s more a pop… kinda thing. I’ve just, uh, I’ve been invited to take part.”

“Oh, shit,” Sam said, sounding impressed. “Like, backstage? Technical stuff, do they have machinery?”

“No…” Dean swallowed. “No. I’m, uh. I’m singing.”

Sam snorted.

“Sure.”

“I’ll be singing just the one song, probably.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam said. “Great.”

“I dunno if you can still get tickets… it’s kinda… sold out,” Dean said.

“Right. Yeah.”

“I’ve been practising a lot. Never sung in front of that many people, so I’m kinda... yeah, I’m probably gonna screw it up anyway. But whatever, you know, I thought you should probably know, because -”

“Wait,” Sam said. “Wait. You’re serious?”

Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel of the car, and cleared his throat.

“Yeah.”

“Wait. What?” Sam demanded. “No, seriously, what? I’ve heard you sing, Dean, you’re… I mean…” He threw on the brakes, obviously struggling to find a kinder thing to say about what he thought of Dean’s singing than the first thing that had occurred to him. Dean nodded, as though Sam could see, and then said,

“Yeah, I kinda - well, I never really… I thought singing was kinda… lame. Or, like, if people knew I could sing, they’d guess about…”

“Oh, God,” Sam said. “So, what, you just _pretended_ to sound like a freaking banshee?”

“Well. You don’t know what a banshee sounds like. And I mean, I was going more for raccoon startled in the act of stealing from the trash,” Dean said, “but, uh. In principle, uh. Yeah, I guess? But lately I got to singing a bit around other people. There’s this bar, and… this guy I met, this, uh, this guy heard me sing there, and long story short, I’m singing in his concert in a week or so.”

“Who?”

Dean swallowed hard.

“Dean? Who is he? I want to Google him.”

He swallowed again. His free hand was gripping the steering wheel tightly enough that he could see the whites of his knuckles.

“Dean, you still there?”

“Yeah, uh, yeah. Yeah.”

“So…?”

“Yeah?”

“The name? Of the guy?”

“Castiel,” Dean said, and then closed his eyes. 

When he said the name, he didn’t think of Cas. He thought of bright lights, and lyrics with thin meanings, and synth beats. Everything was quiet. Sam wasn’t saying a word. He could hear a couple of taps at a keyboard, though.

“Castiel,” Sam repeated eventually.

“Yeah.”

“Castiel. The singer.”

“That’s… yeah.”

“At the Austin Three-Sixty.”

“Yeah.”

“Sold out show. Fourteen thousand capacity, and it’s sold out.”

The strains of panic sounded in Dean’s chest. His eyes opened.

“Holy crap,” Sam said, voice distant with disbelief. “In the news tab on Google. It says that you’ve been added to the show. Your actual name is here, and a picture of you.” 

“Yeah, it would be,” Dean said weakly.

“‘Who is mysterious Dean, the viral star?’ What the _fuck._ What does that mean? What the fuck, Dean, there’s articles about you here and they’re from, like, big names?”

The world was starting to swirl in a way that was becoming all too familiar.

“Dude… seriously, how did I not know about this?”

“It only happened, like, just now,” Dean said. “I met Cas… I met Castiel in the bar, and -”

“Christ. International superstar, and you’re calling him _Cas._ ”

“He invited me to audition for his show,” Dean said, in a voice that was quiet. He didn’t know what exactly Sam was feeling - but by his tone, it wasn’t good.

“And you got the job?” Sam said drily.

“Something like that. There’s a video on YouTube… don’t watch it now,” Dean said in a rush, unable to bear the idea of sitting on the end of the phone while Sam judged and blanched his way through Dean looking at Cas like he did. “But, uh. It’s there. I won.” He couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice, and hated himself for it from Sam’s perspective. How stupid to be proud of something so ridiculous as having to sing in a pop concert, with Castiel.

“Dude,” Sam said. “This…”

“It’s not a big deal,” Dean said, hating himself even more for selling himself out, undercutting himself.

“Are you kidding?” Sam said. “Dean, this is a big deal. This is huge.”

His tone of voice was still off; it was a big deal, then, but it wasn’t necessarily a good big deal. Being on the phone felt suddenly claustrophobic, the tightness in Dean’s chest only on the rise. He recognised the sensation of panic building. The last thing he wanted todo was have a freak-out while on a call with his brother. Sam wouldn’t have any idea how to help.

“I mean, yeah, it’s something,” Dean said, trying to sound bracing. “Just wanted you to know. Figured you’d hear about it. You don’t have to have anything to do with it, though.” 

“I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to come, it’s just that this is… I mean, you’re in the news, you’ve got pictures everywhere… it says here you were trending on Twitter, not just here, like, globally…”

Dean felt as though he was going to throw up. He closed his eyes to try to steady himself.

“Look, I better go.”

“What? No, you can’t just -” Sam said, sounding taken aback. “Look, if I sound - it’s just a surprise, and -”

“Sorry, I really do - I gotta meet someone.” 

“Oh. Well… well, I - okay.” There was a pause, and Dean could sense Sam running his hand through his hair, trying to figure out what to say. “Hey, I -”

“Really,” Dean said, through short breaths, “I better go.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m good. I’m good.” Dean struggled to hold onto himself. He’d thought this was over, after watching the video and not feeling too bad about what it contained. But hearing Sam talk about it reminded him that it wasn’t just people like himself, and Charlie, and Mr Fizzles who were watching it. Straight guys like Sam were watching it, and judging it, and rolling their eyes. “Just, you know. Like I said, I’m kinda worried I’ll screw it up.”

“I mean, if you sing anything like I’ve always heard you sing for my whole life, then, yeah,” Sam said, and Dean made a half-hearted attempt to laugh.

“Right.”

“Okay. Well. I’ll let you go, then,” Sam said.

“Uh, actually, last thing…” Dean gritted his teeth. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t go to dinner with Cas without an answer for him. “Can I bring someone over for Christmas?”

“Oh… yeah, sure. Who?”

“Just a friend,” Dean said, the words out before he’d thought them through, automatically on the defensive. _Shit._

“Oh, nice. ‘Course,” Sam said, his tone attempting to be normal.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, absolutely. No worries.”

“Cool. Well, I’ll talk to you later, then.”

“Yeah. Dean?”

“Mm?”

“Thanks for telling me. About all of it.” Dean felt the wraparound iron bars constraining his chest ease their hold a touch. Whatever Sam thought about Dean’s singing, he was okay with Dean being bi, and that was the bigger battle. Everything else was a side-note to the main event. 

The panic eased. His breathing calmed. He opened his eyes. 

Dean had come out to his brother. And he still _had_ his brother. That was, by far, the most important thing.

He managed a smile.

“It was about time,” he said.

“You, uh - you take care, Dean.”

“Thanks, man. You too.”

It was the closest they generally got to telling each other that they cared. Dean could feel the intensity behind the casual words, from both of them.

“Cool. See you.”

“Bye.”

Dean hung up. He breathed out, his head dropping to rest on the steering wheel. 

After a few moments, his phone lit up with a text.

_ > Hey can we talk again later maybe after your thing tonight? Or tomorrow? Hope that wasn’t weird. Just big news _

Dean bit the side of his lip, staring down at the text. Did he want to talk to Sam again tonight? It felt as though he’d gone through that phone call, managed to earn a rest. And even though Sam said he wanted to talk again so soon, Dean felt in his gut that it would be better to let things rest for a little bit, let it sink in before they tried to talk about it again.

_ < Not weird. I get it, lot to take in. Tomorrow works. I’ll call after work _

_ > Cool _

Dean flicked over in his messages to his conversation with Charlie.

_ < I did it _

The text from Charlie came back quickly.

_ > ???? and? _

Dean hovered his fingers over the keys. He thought again of Sam’s first reaction - the pause, and then the simple phrase. _That's awesome._

He smiled.

_ < It went fine. It was good. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOF I was a little worried I wouldn't get this posted! It's coming to you from Salzburg, Austria. Today I ate schnitzel and a lot of cheese and apricots - in other words, life couldn't be better. MOUNTAINS ARE EVERYWHERE. MOUNTAINS, GANDALF. I managed to find good wifi to get this up and I'm feeling most pleased indeed about that. I hope you all are having an excellent time out there - apologies for the brief hiatus, I want to do my best to make the deadline for the DCBB because I'm so excited for the fic I'm doing for it!! So many writing things I am excited for, so so many.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's this you see sheepishly wandering across your screen? So sheepish that there's some baa'ing definitely happening? Why, 'tis old whelvenwings, I do believe! Many apologies that this hiatus went a week longer than expected. I will ramble on the whys and wherefores at the end of the chapter but in the meantime, here's a new nugget of story for you!! Cooked with love. The next chapter will be up next Friday, we're back to that good good weekly upload life. That'll be the 16th August. See you then!! <3

Dean drove into the centre of town, floating several yards above his own body again - except this time, it was exhilaration that had him flying. 

He’d done it. He’d _done_ it. He’d actually come out to his brother. His brother knew that he was bi, and they were still - he was still invited for Christmas. He was still going to be a part of his brother’s life, and Sam was going to be a part of his, more than before. Every now and then, at a complicated intersection or down a long strip of road, Dean forgot briefly what had just happened, let his mind drift to something else - and then he remembered, and the remembrance smacked him clean out of his own mind.

No more hiding. No more waiting. No more feeling like a ticking time bomb every time he was around his brother, every time he spoke to someone who knew his brother, every time he sang at The Refuge. The fuse had been cut, the bomb defused. There was nothing more to worry about.

From somewhere a few feet above, still, Dean felt a lump rise to his throat.

When was the last time he hadn’t had to worry, or at the least to pay attention, to be on alert, to watch what he said and who he said it to? When was the last time he’d felt this free? 

It felt as though he’d been running and running and running and his legs had been aching and he hadn’t been able to stop or to feel it, until this moment, right now, in his car. He was suddenly aware how heavy it had been sitting on him, how much of himself he’d had to give just so that he and he alone chose when Sam found out the truth. He could feel himself choking up, stupidly. It had been so goddamn painfully much, and he hadn’t talked about it with anyone. He couldn’t have. Or maybe he could, but he hadn’t known how.

And it was over. It was over. Places in his mind that Dean hadn’t known were cramped and twisted, he could feel them - not unbending, not relaxing, not yet - but being uncovered, at least. Being given the space to breathe. He could _breathe._

He drove, swinging his car into a parking lot and heading on foot towards the place he’d said he would meet Cas. And he found himself smiling, irrepressibly. It was idiotic, he had to look like a total loser, smiling to himself as he walked down the street. But he couldn’t squash the smile completely. He’d come out to his brother. He was about to go on a date with Cas. And Cas was coming for Christmas. Everything was - everything was good, it was so good. Everything looked beautiful to him. The people walking down the street around him, the leaves rolling down the sidewalk, the neon sign advertising _burgers, burgers, burgers, and more_ at the place where Cas had said he was waiting.

Walking inside, Dean spotted Cas sitting at a table and smiled his way past the waitress, smiled his way across the restaurant, and dropped into his seat still with the unavoidable ridiculous goofy little smile on his face. In the half-second before Cas looked up, a thought flashed through Dean’s mind - that the other people outside and the leaves and the bright neon had looked beautiful, but nothing had come even remotely close to how beautiful Cas looked to Dean right now. His hair was windswept, his jaw shadowed with a little evening stubble.

“Hey,” Dean said, slightly too late, but Cas didn’t seem to notice. He looked up, and his expression seemed to melt a little. “What?”

“You look happy,” Cas said, and Dean scrubbed his hand over his mouth to stop himself smiling or crying or both.

“I guess I am,” he said.

“You spoke to Sam?”

“Yeah. But right now, man, I’m just happy to see you,” Dean said, and was rewarded with a quick blink and a surprised curve of Cas’ mouth.

“Well,” he said, “I’m happy to see you, too.”

Dean glanced around the nearby tables. Mostly people from the older generations. He swallowed down the urge to lean forward and go for a kiss, right now, in the middle of the restaurant. The last thing he wanted was to get cursed out by an old homophobe - or a young one - on today of all days. But because it _was_ today, because he’d had a victory and he felt a little brave, he put his hand on the middle of the table, palm up.

Cas stared at it, and then Dean curled his fingers in, and he seemed to realise what was being asked - without hesitating, he reached and slid his hand across Dean’s. Slowly, carefully, as though he wanted to enjoy the sensation of touch. His fingertips came to rest on the inside of Dean’s wrist, and his index finger drew a single circle. Dean found himself looking down at their hands - at his hand, under Cas’. At the way they were holding each other, sensitive and light, but fingers to wrists as though prepared at any moment to grab hold and grip tight and not let go.

He cleared his throat. He should say something. But then Cas traced another circle, and his face was getting hot, and he didn’t know what to say. He tried to reach for humour, attempted to look as though he was in control of what was happening and he knew what he was doing, but he knew damn well just from how the expression slid off his face that he wasn’t fooling anybody.

“First real date,” he managed.

“First real date,” Cas agreed.

“Merry date-mas.” It was the first thing that came into Dean’s head and he’d blurted it out before he could stop himself, but as usual, Cas looked unruffled by the strangeness. The amusement on his face was subtle, like most things - expressions played over his features with the volume at about a three, usually, Dean thought - but it was definitely there.

“And a happy new date,” he said.

They stared at each other, at a heated and intense impasse for a few seconds, before Cas dropped his gaze.

“So… Sam… how did it go?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, feeling that smile climb back onto his face. There was no way to stop it. “Yeah, so, I did it.”

“And?”

 _And I still have a brother who calls me his brother. And I feel like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders that I’ve been carrying since forever. And I’m only just getting that these last years, everything felt so normal to me that I didn’t even realise I was going through hell. I was going through_ hell _._

“And, it was good,” Dean said, pulling the menu towards him with his free hand. “Yeah, he just… he was great about it.”

“Was he surprised?”

“Yeah, definitely. He hadn’t guessed, I don’t think. But he was awesome. He said some good stuff. It was kinda like you said, actually. Like, he knew that what he was seeing, my apartment and everything, it wasn’t all there is to me. I didn’t think he’d be picking up on it but he was, and… yeah, I don’t know. It’s just good.” 

Dean wanted to talk about it, go over and over the conversation, and also felt as though it was too good to be true - as though if he focused on it too hard, it would pop like a soap bubble. He started to scan the menu in earnest, wondering which burger to go for this time.

“That sounds wonderful. Congratulations.” The words could have sounded stilted and formal, but Cas said them with such sincerity that it shaved off the awkward edges. Dean looked up at him, and smiled.

“I didn’t think I’d ever do it,” he said. He hesitated, and then added, “A lot of why I finally did... is because of you.”

“This was entirely your choice, Dean,” Cas said.

“Yeah. But you got me there. Gave me the courage,” Dean said.

“It was -”

“Let me thank you, asshat,” Dean said, and Cas sat back, his eyes brightening at the warmly-meant insult.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m just glad it went well. Did you tell him about the concert?”

Dean’s face darkened.

“Yeah…” he said. “It was - actually, it was - well, that part was less good. Oh, hi.” A waiter had approached their table, and Dean ordered his burger, surprised to find that Cas asked for the very same. He wondered whether they were just that compatible, or if Cas was taking Dean’s choice as a recommendation.

“So… he didn’t take it so well?” Cas pressed, looking concerned, when the waiter had left.

“I don’t know. He was okay with it, like, he didn’t tell me I shouldn’t do it or anything. He just was, like… more surprised about that part, I think. In a bad way.” 

“Really?”

“I mean, I guess it’s gonna come pretty out of left field for him. It’s not like pop is usually even my thing, let alone, like… singing it… on a stage in front of fourteen thousand people, or however many it’s gonna be. And the news articles, and the Twitter thing, and all of it.”

He could feel metal threads of panic wrap around his neck even as he said the words, and cleared his throat to try to unwind their tightness. _Don’t think about it. Come on. Not today. I’m untouchable today._

“I see. Yes, of course.”

“I knew it wasn’t gonna be perfect, telling him about it,” Dean said, and he heard the disappointment in his own tone, and cringed. “Seriously. I know how lucky I am. I’m not taking it for granted.”

“Still,” Cas said, looking at him with careful compassion.

“Still.”

They were quiet for a moment. Dean battled against the anxious iron bands compressing his chest, melting them away with better memories from the day. Sam’s acceptance. The way he’d said he wanted to come and meet Dean, somewhere that wasn’t the Firehouse, somewhere new. Coming here, to meet Cas. Dean realised that as they’d ordered, he’d let go of Cas’ hand. It was still sitting on the table, not in the middle anymore, but far enough across to not quite look natural, as though Cas were hoping Dean might reach for him again. So Dean did, and this time Cas threaded their fingers together.

“I suppose,” Cas said thoughtfully, his eyes searching the room without seeing it as he considered, “he has a lot to learn about you. Sam, I mean. It must feel frightening for him.”

“Frightening?” Their burgers arrived, and Dean let go of Cas’ hand again. He offered a cursory smile and thanks to the harangued-looking waiter, who looked relieved to hear they didn’t want any extra sauces.

“Well,” Cas said, “it can be scary to care a lot about someone, and then they reveal something about themselves you didn’t know before, and you realise how much you didn’t really know them. It makes you wonder what else you don’t know, I think.”

Dean took a bite of his food, and chewed slowly, mulling that over. 

He thought of when he’d learned that Cas was asexual - no, but more than that, he thought of when he’d learned that Cas was Castiel, the singer. He could easily point his finger at which of the two had shaken him more, made him feel like the rug had been pulled away from under his feet, had him wondering what else about Cas he didn’t know. Had made him mistrust Cas, feel as though what was between them had weakened.

He gulped down a mouthful, and felt a closer kinship to Sam than before. Finding out about Cas’ sexuality had been one thing, but finding out he was famous - that had, somehow, been something else. Sam had to be going through something similar, or - in fact - even more intense. It was one thing to think you knew a lot about someone you’d met the day before; it was something else to think you knew your own sibling, and it turned out they were overnight famous for a skill you hadn’t even known they had. Siblings were supposed to know these kinds of things about each other, weren’t they? Or at least, siblings who were close.

It had to feel to Sam as though they weren’t close, and this was proof. Dean hadn’t liked feeling that with Cas, but for Sam, it was his brother. His family, the only family he had left. It was different, it was more. And it couldn’t have helped that Dean had spent so many years pushing Sam away.

Dean looked back on their conversation. The way Sam had been so open to Dean being bi, but so confused and taken aback by hearing about the concert - it made sense. If Sam told Dean now that he was queer, Dean would be surprised but happy for him; if Sam told Dean that he was going to quit his job and become a singer, Dean would have a few questions.

Not that Dean was quitting his job, or anything. But he got it - why things had unfolded as they had. He looked over at Cas, who was watching him figure it all out. Dean nodded in acknowledgement, and took another huge bite of burger.

“Yeah,” he said through it, “anyway. I just gotta give him some time.”

“Hmm?”

Dean chewed and swallowed.

“I said, you’re looking pretty damn fine.”

Cas’ chin dropped, hiding his sudden pleased expression. 

“Oh. Well… thank you.”

They ate in silence for another few seconds. When Dean glanced up, he saw that Cas was still glowing slightly as he took a sip of his water.

Anyone would think he’d never been paid a compliment, Dean thought in passing. 

If he just gave Sam some time to figure things out, wrap his head around it - do some googling, see all that there was to see and come to terms with it - then maybe they could talk about it again afterwards. Maybe then Sam wouldn’t be so down on the idea. Especially when Dean told him that this didn’t really change anything. Sure, Dean could sing, but he was still just Dean. Just a mechanic.

Briefly, a memory flashed through his mind. Bobby, reminding him that he’d never wanted to be a mechanic forever. He pushed that thought away, though. He couldn’t quit his job. He needed his job. He needed to pay bills. One day, not too far away, the magic of Cas being here was going to end, the spell would lift, and he’d have to go back to worrying about the grocery shopping and whether he had enough time to do laundry and if he was going to have one or two too many drinks at The Refuge.

He tried not to feel too bleak at the thought. _Not today. Today’s just for the good shit._

When he looked up, he saw that Cas was still looking ever so slightly flustered, and it took Dean half a moment to realise why; he couldn’t still be thinking about that joking compliment that Dean had paid him, could he?

And then he remembered Cas saying that he hadn’t had a lot of experience with romantic stuff, and Charlie saying that romance had been complicated for Cas in high school. Maybe he really hadn’t been paid all that many compliments about how he looked. The magazines raved about his voice, his charisma, but they couldn’t flatter a face that was always hidden behind a feathered mask.

“Cheese is strange,” Cas said. “Don't you think?” He was looking at his burger, considering the strings of cheese curling out from under the bun - but on his face was writ large the memory of the compliment. He was clearly still thinking about it.

Dean felt, suddenly, quietly intense - almost outright angry - at the fact that Cas should be unused to hearing that he was beautiful, handsome, whatever, all of it. Someone should have been telling him that every damn day until Dean arrived to take over.

“Hey,” Dean said, ducking his own chin slightly to catch Cas’ eyes, and hold their gaze. “You know I meant that, right?”

“About… the cheese?”

“About you. You look good, Cas.” He raised his eyebrows. He flirted, hard, with the way he looked at Cas. “You always do.”

Cas looked almost afraid of him for a few moments, glow fading, as though Dean’s words were a light touch on his cheek that he was expecting to be followed by a sharp slap. When Dean only looked at him - didn’t take the words back, didn’t undercut them, didn’t crack a joke or look away - the quietest of smiles blossomed, first in Cas’ eyes and then spreading across his face.

“Well,” said Cas, “thank you.”

Dean took a massive bite of burger, and let the juice dribble down his chin, a strand of lettuce trailing.

“You’re welcome.”

Cas laughed first and that set Dean off, struggling to chew his way through his mouthful with any semblance of dignity. It took a few full minutes of garnering sidelong looks from the people on the tables around them before they managed to regain control, when just meeting each other’s eyes didn’t set them off again.

“So,” Dean said, “anyway.”

“Anyway. Oh, I have to talk to you about something.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Jody asked me to mention to you that you should be careful where you go and what you do for the next little while. We assumed you’d want your privacy so we’ve been taking steps to protect it. Jody and the team have been really careful with keeping your details quiet, so no one knows your last name or where to find you - and she’s paid off a couple of the more insistent news outlets.”

“Out of your money?” Dean said, trying to sound normal. _Not today. Not today._ He warred with the worry that wanted to settle and squeeze around his body. And it was surprisingly easy, this time. He didn’t know why, but the panic didn’t linger.

He tried to imagine opening the door to his apartment one day and finding a bunch of paparazzi in his stairwell, snapping pictures of him as he left for work. Following him to the garage and taking photos of him and the other mechanics in their dumb orange overalls. Filling up pages of crappy sites with the news that he’d eaten another cheap sandwich for lunch or - shockingly - had stopped for a coffee. It felt stupid, but not horrible.

“Castiel’s money,” Cas said, as though that meant it wasn’t his, and Dean blinked to focus on listening to him. “From the tour and sales, things like that. Or from the views on that viral video, if you want to think about it that way. You waived all right to payment in your contract -”

“I did?”

“- but it only feels right that measures to protect your privacy should come out of our funds. The thing is, those measures only last so long as you aren’t recognised on the street, or so long as none of the people we paid off break their word. So just… don’t tell anyone about the concert who you don’t trust. And don’t go anywhere you wouldn’t like to be reported as having been, for a while. If that makes sense.” He looked almost pained as he said it. “Sorry.”

“Ah, man, yeah,” Dean said sadly. “Better cancel that trip to visit my murder cult friends up in Arizona. Shame, though. I’ve been looking forward to it since forever.”

“I expect they had an especially good murder planned this time,” Cas said, with pitch-perfect empathy.

“I think it was gonna be poison and then an axe to the face. You know I love an axe to the face.”

“Axe first, ask questions later, as you always say,” Cas said, nodding, and Dean snorted, unable to hold up the pretence through the pun.

“Seriously, man, don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal. Not like I’m out here selling drugs every night or something.” He’d said it a little too loud, and saw out of the corner of his eye that one of the couples at a table nearby had turned to look at him.

“I just… I feel responsible,” Cas said seriously, and Dean shifted at the frankness in his voice. “I invited you to the auditions and didn’t give you any kind of warning about what might follow. I didn’t mean for this to result in you being chased around.”

“Maybe I’ll have to put on the…” Dean gestured at his face as though putting on a mask, and Cas nodded.

“Only one problem,” he said. “A couple of people may already have seen your face.”

“Oh, no. Like, two?”

“Maybe even three.”

“Damn. Shelve that plan, then.” Dean put down his burger. “Look, maybe I’m being naive, but hey… they’ll lose interest in me after the concert, right? And before then, well, I can deal. It’s okay. I knew I was gonna be in a Castiel video and I signed off on it.”

“But I didn’t talk it all through with you. No one did. You should have had all the information, we just never expected the video to be anywhere near this popular, and we’ve never done anything like this before, and -”

“Cas. Seriously. It’s okay.” Dean smiled. “I can handle it.” He wasn’t sure why his confidence was deciding to make its appearance now, when any mention of his newfound fame had been constricting his breathing for the past few days - it was as though Cas being concerned for him, playing the role of the worrier, left him free to brush off the fear and be reassuring. Cas, however, looked unconvinced.

“Just… if you see someone taking pictures of you, call me. Don’t try to talk to them, don’t confront them. Remember, any reaction you have plays right into their hands. They shouldn’t find you, but if they do…”

“I’ll be okay,” Dean said. “I’ll call you. I swear.”

“Don’t swear. It’s rude.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at the distinctly bad joke, but let it slide when he saw the dry expression on Cas’ face. He took another bite of his burger, and they ate for a while in companionable silence, occasionally catching each other’s eyes across the table and not quite smiling, but acknowledging each other in split-second moments of warmth. Dean had thought it might be strange to be out in public with Cas, trying to do some kind of date thing, especially since Cas himself had specifically told him about the horror he felt at the prospect of dating - but here they were, and it felt totally natural. Like they’d taken the big wide world and carved out the tiniest space in it just for them.

Cas was clearly enjoying his burger, savouring it, and Dean finished his meal first. He spent the time looking around the restaurant and glancing occasionally at Cas - not wanting to make him feel supervised as he ate, but also unable to keep his eyes away for long. He didn’t want to pick up his phone and disengage from their time together, even though Cas’ singular focus seemed to be the melty American cheese dripping off his burger; he just wanted to sit here and try to soak in where he was, right now.

After all, soon he wouldn’t be able to do this. Soon, Cas would be gone. Off to other cities and other people. Back to getting up on the stage, back to singing. Back to the mask.

That damn mask. Dean could understand why Cas wore it - if he didn’t, they wouldn’t be able to sit here in this diner without pre-arranged security in case any paparazzi or fans showed up and wouldn’t leave. The mask gave Cas freedom. And yet - Dean looked across the table at Cas, and he didn’t see someone who was totally free.

He saw someone who was half-free, and half-bound. He could leave the house and walk around without being chased and harassed, but he couldn’t publicly own a whole part of his identity as a singer and a talented musician. He was out, but out as gay, not as gay asexual. His mask left his face half-uncovered and half-hidden, and that was Cas' life all the way through - open, visible, genuine, but only up to a point.

“What are you thinking?” Cas asked, jerking Dean out of his reverie. He seemed to have picked up on the serious tone of Dean’s thoughts, because his expression held no hint of humour.

“Ah,” Dean said, waving a disparaging hand, and then slowing himself. _Come on, Winchester. Say what you think._ “Well, I was just wondering about, uh, the ace thing, actually. And the mask.”

“Oh?” Cas’ expression looked more shuttered, instantly. Some spark in his eyes seemed to snap out, just as it had when he’d been so angry yesterday. Dean swallowed hard.

“Never mind,” he said, and Cas seemed to check himself, blink away the sudden dark in the cut of his glance.

“You can ask anything,” he said quietly.

“It's OK. It was a dumb question.” Dean realised that his refusal was going to lead to this becoming a _thing_ , but he also very much didn't want to see Cas go hard-edged and cold again just because he had said something wrong.

Was it wrong? Probably. What right did he have to push Cas for reasoning behind holding his orientation back from the public? What right did anyone have to demand that a queer person put logic and words to the indescribably huge and looming fear of coming out? And what right did he have to ask about the rest of it, the mask, when he knew so little about fame and what it could be like?

Dean could see that Cas looked deflated, even a little embarrassed, across the table.

“I'm sorry I snapped,” he said.

“It's okay,” Dean said automatically, and then caught himself. He could see Charlie's face, hear her encouraging him to speak to Cas about his worries. _He'd want to know._

Dean looked up at Cas, who was pushing a single fry around his plate, doing a bad job of disguising that he was upset.

“Actually,” Dean said, and he was surprised to find the little rough shake back in his voice. When was the last time he'd actually tried to talk to someone about how they'd upset him? And then he realised it had probably been today, earlier, on the phone with Sam, and he felt exhausted. But Cas had looked up, and his expression seemed gentle enough. Dean cleared his throat. Apparently, today was a day when he had to do a lot of talking. He was going to take tomorrow off. “Actually, it's kinda been on my mind that you were so mad at me yesterday. And that you were gonna walk out. Like, you didn't wanna talk about it with me at all. And then, that just felt like the same thing, where I brought up the ace thing again. Like you don't wanna talk. It feels like… I mean, you know how I feel about you being ace, but that doesn't mean that I won't ever have questions, or like, wanna just talk about it with you, and… I mean, I wanna do right by you whenever I can and sometimes I won't automatically know how to do that, and the only one who knows that is you, but if I can't ask you then I won't know, you know? And maybe I'll fuck up and get it wrong or ask the wrong thing and I wanna be told when that happens and I wanna learn and apologise but I just… if it's this thing where it feels like if I bring up this or that topic, you could walk out, like, forever… then I'm gonna just be sitting here not wanting to ever say anything.”

Cas sat very still for a moment, and then another, his eyes cast down at his hands, folded in his lap. Dean swallowed.

“I don’t mean that, like -”

“No, it’s alright. I know what you mean and I agree with you. I… it’s…”

He was silent for several seconds. On instinct more than anything, Dean stayed quiet, let him think it through; when Cas did speak, it was with precision.

“There have been people in my past who haven’t been open to me being who I am,” he said. “Any anger I’ve been showing towards you has been misplaced, meant for them. You deserve better than second-hand anger. But it's… it's - I get lost in it, sometimes.”

“Lost in it?”

“I just… I feel like I can’t - I don’t want to hear some things that I’ve heard ever again,” Cas said. “Talking about some things, about - about being -” He glanced left and right, seemed to note the older couples and groups for the first time, and continued, “Talking about being ace, it feels like it could happen any second. I could have to hear all those things all over again. But it’s not - it’s not fair on you that I expect that. And it’s definitely not fair for me to be angry.”

He was staring down at the table.

“I get it, man. It’s hard,” Dean said. “Dealing with that shit.” Cas' eyes widened and slipped sideways for half a moment in tacit agreement, his chin jerking once. He didn’t seem to want to meet Dean’s gaze. 

“It feels like I'm being stupid to trust you sometimes,” Cas said. 

That stung.

“How come?” Dean said, knowing his tone was off. Cas was still looking away. He didn’t say anything.

Dean reached for a better feeling in himself, for understanding.

“I mean… I get it. Only takes one time hearing the wrong thing and you're always watching your back afterward, waiting for it to happen again.” He shrugged his shoulders, feeling big and clumsy and awkward. “If it helps, I think it’s bullshit that anyone ever treated you badly. It’s bullshit that they did it at all and it’s bullshit that they did it over you being asexual.”

“You think so?” Cas sounded vaguely surprised, like he knew already that it was bullshit, but he hadn't expected Dean to think so.

“Yeah? What right did they have to make you feel crappy about being who you are?” 

“Not a lot of people know about asexuality,” Cas offered blandly.

“That’s not an excuse,” Dean said. “I’ve had plenty of conversations with people who didn’t get being bi before I told them about it and they asked me some questions. They weren’t all the right questions but you could tell they were coming from the right place so it didn’t sting. You can not know about something and also not be a dick.”

“That’s true.” Cas’ tone was non-committal.

“I dunno. I think when it sticks with you in a bad way, that’s when people haven’t been coming from the right place, no matter whether what they said seemed like the right thing or the wrong thing.”

“Yes. The people I’m - these people definitely didn’t say the right thing.”

“Dicks.” Cas said nothing. He looked iced-over, pale and sad. How bad had it been? What had they done to him, to make him look like that? Dean felt his fists clench under the table.

“Hey,” he said. “Uh. You know, if you, uh, ever wanna talk about stuff, I’m here. I’m not great at talking but I do a pretty good job listening, so.”

“I think you’re good at talking,” Cas said, and he said it so earnestly that Dean felt his ears going pink.

“I mean it, though,” he said, brushing past the compliment. Cas frowned, and then nodded down at his plate.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m not - you know, tonight, I don’t know if I’m - if I want to just -”

“Dude, no,” Dean said, sitting back in his chair. “No, no. No excuses. It’s up to you, if ‘n’ when. Your business. I’m just…”

_I just don’t want you to be on your own behind that sadness I can see in your eyes._

Cas was watching him, and Dean could see a hundred thoughts chasing around inside his head.

 He cleared his throat, and said,

“So, uh, anyway. I got you the invite for sure, by the way. Christmas. If you’re still in.”

The loneliness in Cas’ eyes slipped further back; he smiled, hand going flat on the table, unclenching.

“Really?”

“Really, really.” Dean considered telling Cas that he’d accidentally - well, semi-accidentally - led Sam to think that he was bringing someone along who was strictly a friend. Things still felt a little tightrope-y, though, after their brush against the place where Cas seemed to keep his pain, and so he decided he’d mention it later. “He’s expecting the two of us.”

And then his stomach went cold.

He’d told Sam that he was bringing along someone called Cas. He’d said Cas, hadn’t he? On the phone, he’d told Sam that his guest was called Cas. And he’d also told Sam that he was going to sing in a concert by Castiel.

There was no way Sam wouldn’t figure it out. Dean might be able to literally stand at a Castiel audition with a guy called Cas beside him and not put two and two together, but there was no way Sam was going to miss it, not when he was already going to be on full bloodhound mode after all Dean’s recent revelations.

Dean... had completely just told his brother Castiel’s real identity. Sam was totally going to realise that Cas was Castiel. And even though Dean hadn’t ever explicitly said who Castiel was, and his agreement in the NDA he’d signed was unbroken - even still, Jody was going to _eviscerate_ him.

“Dean?”

“Mmm?” Dean realised he’d sunk into a pit of horror, lost track of what was right in front of him.

“Are you sure you still want me to come?”

That one was easy.

“Of course I do,” he said, and was glad to hear that his tone held no doubt.

He’d just call Sam, and tell him to be cool about it. Or maybe just try to figure out if Sam had realised who was coming for Christmas first, and then tell him to be cool about it if he _had_ realised, and just tell him to be cool in general if he hadn’t.

“Good,” Cas said. “Because I just bought your Christmas present today.”

“My…?”

And quite suddenly, the shine was completely back on the evening. Dean leaned forward in his seat.

“What did you get me?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“What did you get me?”

“It’s a surprise, Dean.”

“What did you get me?”

“Dean.”

“What did you -”

“Dean -”

“What did you get me?”

“Dean!”

Dean lifted his hands as though in surrender. The waiter swooped past, and Dean ordered the check; Cas patted his pockets, but Dean forestalled him.

“Nuh-uh,” he said. “This one’s on me.”

“No,” Cas said firmly.

“Yes,” Dean said, more firmly.

“Dean.” It was a tone of voice that Dean was starting to become accustomed to.

“Look,” he said. “How’s it going to be your first good date if you have to pay for it?”

And that sent Cas quiet again. Dean paid the check with no more arguments, and together they stood up and left the restaurant. Outside, it was briskly cold. Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, and then looked over at Cas, and extracted a hand and held it out. They walked together back to the Impala, pressed close enough that, in the dark of the late evening, Dean hoped no one would see their joined hands and comment on it.

Once they were inside the car, the doors shut tight against the cold, Dean turned to look at Cas. 

“So,” he said. “What d’you reckon? Any good?”

He wished, suddenly, that he’d put in more effort for it. Had thought of funny things to say ahead of time, had got Cas flowers, had swept him off his feet with all he had, thrown every cliche and gimmick in the book at it. But Cas said,

“It was real. It was perfect.” And then he tilted his head to one side, and said, “Well. Almost.”

Dean’s stomach dipped.

“Almost?”

Cas leaned over, and put his hand on Dean’s jacket collar, and used it to pull him in close. He let Dean close the little distance between them. Their lips were cold, but the kiss lasted long enough to warm them.

“Now it’s perfect,” Cas said, finally.

Dean started the car.

“What did you get me?” he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST GOOD DATE? FIRST. GOOD. DATE.
> 
> Thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter! Things convened and converged in unexpected ways. I was writing right down to the wire for the DCBB deadline and I did make it, so I'm all locked and loaded and ready for art claims (augughhhhhhh). Also I went with my family on our annual beach holiday. The place where we go holds so many memories for me - I've had really good and also really bad experiences there, and I underestimated how hard it'd hit me to be there again. I offer these truths to the void in hopes of assuaging my own bad feelings surrounding not keeping my word about when I'd upload. Dear void, please be gentle. I know I'm a spork.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter eighteen, dear friends!! Sweet and delicious and ready to be sampled. I hope you've all had a good week. The next chapter will go up next Friday, the 23rd! <3

Dean strummed a chord on his guitar, and sang a note in harmony. And then he cleared his throat, and shifted on his sofa, and adjusted the position of the guitar, and tried again.

He had an idea for a melody, sort of. It was just the lyrics that wouldn’t come so easily. Glancing at the clock up on the wall, he rolled his eyes and groaned, and set the guitar down. He reached for his phone.

_ > Four hours is too long to spend on a dumb song for a dumb christmas gift right _

He sent the text, and then flopped back onto his sofa. It was strange to be actually sitting here, for the first time in a long time. He’d been too busy, between work and spending time with Cas and worrying about coming out and Christmas and the concert and all the rest of it, to just spend some time in his old favourite spot: right here on the sofa. It wasn’t that it was even particularly comfortable - he’d had that aversion to throw pillows which made things a bit stark, and the sofa had somehow fended off his best attempt at making a dent in it to sink into. Even still, for a long time it’d been where he’d spent every evening, just watching crappy TV and drinking down a beer.

Perched on the edge of the sofa, trying to play guitar, he felt like a stranger to the guy who’d used to do that.

His phone hummed in his hand - and then kept humming. Not just a text, a call from Charlie. Dean answered and put it on speaker, holding the phone flat in his hand.

“Hey,” he said.

“Four hours?!” Charlie said, dodging the niceties. “Dude.”

“I know, I know.” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “But he’s got me something and I wanted to give him something, and I don’t know, I thought this could be… good, or whatever.”

“You’re writing him a song?”

“I’m not…  _ not  _ writing him a song. I mean, I’m trying to.”

“Sounds cute,” Charlie said. “Wish I could be there to hear it. But four hours… I mean… are you writing, like, a whole thing?”

Dean swallowed. If she was thinking he was in too deep at four hours, he was glad that he hadn’t told her how long he’d  _ actually  _ been working on the song.

“Uh… yeah? I guess?” Dean cleared his throat. “It’s whatever. Probably I’ll just go get him something from a store.”

“Noooo, it sounds like an amazing idea,” Charlie said. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

Dean glanced over at his guitar. How would he even give Cas the song tomorrow on Christmas Day, anyway? Just bring along his acoustic and bust it out in front of everyone? No, he needed some other plan for Cas’ gift. Something way more lowkey than a song he’d worked on for four hours. Five.

… Six.

“I’ll figure it out,” Dean said. “What’s up with you?”

“Not much,” Charlie said airily. “Just finished up my last job before the holidays.”

“You goin’ over to the Harvelles again this year?”

“Well… nah.”

“What?” Dean frowned.

“Yeah, I guess Jo’s still pretty mad, because I didn’t get the invite this year. Guess she’s doing Christmas without the extra Bradbury spice this time.”

“What? No way. Dude. That sucks. I’m gonna call her.”

“No, no, no,” Charlie said, and Dean could hear how upset she was in her tone. “No, seriously. I’m okay. I’ll just have a quiet one this year.”

“Charlie,” Dean said.

“It’s just one day of the year on my own, Dean. I’m a big girl.”

“It’s Christmas,” Dean said.

“Yeah.”

“It’s  _ Christmas _ .”

“I’m an atheist anyway,” Charlie said.

“Community didn’t make an actual claymation episode for you to ignore the message it taught us, Charlie.”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone.

“Damn,” Charlie said eventually. “You’re using my shows against me. That’s just fundamentally unfair. Well, what do you want me to do, anyway? Just turn up to the Harvelles uninvited? She’ll kick me out. Seriously. She’s never been this angry with me for this long. I think I really...” She cleared her throat. “I think I really fucked up, actually.”

“You didn’t see Gilda again, did you?”

“No,” Charlie said, sounding even more upset. “Which sucks, because I really liked her, and now I’m losing that as well as, you know, one of my best friends, so. That’s just great.”

“Come to Sam’s,” Dean said. “I’ll ask him, but I’m sure he’d be cool with it. He said Cas could come, so.”

“Dean, you don’t have to…” Charlie said, but her protest sounded half-hearted.

“Hey, c’mon. Jo always keeps you all to herself at Christmas. Come hang with me instead. And Cas is gonna be there, like I said. So come.”

“I mean… if you really don’t mind…”

 I’ll text you the address and when to be there. No one does Christmas alone if I can help it.”

“Well… thanks, Dean.” Charlie said it sincerely, and then added, “Nerd.”

Dean snorted. 

“Okay. Well, if I’m gonna get something else for Cas, then I better get going.”

“Nuh-uh, no, no - hang on. If I’m gonna actually get to be there, I wanna hear this song.”

“Oh, you do?”

“Yeah,  _ duh. _ ”

“Huh. Okay. Well, I’ll tell you when you can hear it, then.”

“When?”

“Uh, never o’clock next Tuesday. Okay, bye, now.”

“Hey, no, you -”

Dean hung up, grinning. A few seconds later, he got seven angry face emojis in a row, and his grin only got wider; it fell, though, when he looked back at his guitar.

He  _ did  _ have a melody that he thought sounded pretty good. But was it good enough? What even was ‘good enough’, anyway? Good enough to sing in front of people? Even the thought of singing in front of his brother, and trying to do it properly, made his gut twist and curl in embarrassment. With Charlie there too, as well as whoever else Sam was having along… he just wanted to make a run for it, right now. Not even wait until the day itself - just go now.

But the thing was, Cas would know that. He’d know how hard it would be for Dean to sing. It’d be a way for Dean to show… something. He didn’t know what exactly, but it’d be something.

A novelty gift from a store wasn’t going to do that.

Then again, Dean had told Sam that Cas was just a friend, so… maybe the novelty gift would be a better idea, to keep that up -

No, he wasn’t keeping secrets anymore. He didn’t need to. That had been the whole point of calling Sam up and coming out before Christmas, so that he wouldn’t need to fake anything on the day itself. And he needed to call Sam, too, and tell him not to mention to anyone about who Cas was, if he figured it out…

Ugh. He could do that later. First, he needed to figure out Cas’ gift. He sat in indecision for another few moments, just staring off into space - and then he reached for his phone again, and went to find a jacket to put on against the cold, and grab his keys.

If he at least  _ had  _ the novelty gift, then he definitely wouldn’t be turning up empty-handed.

***

Three hours later, Dean was in Walmart.

He was browsing the shelves with a kind of reckless and wild-eyed abandon at this point. He’d gone through just about every other store in the city of Austin, Texas and he was still coming up empty. Nothing in any store had been good enough. Nothing had said  _ hey, Cas, uh… _

What was Dean even trying to say with the gift?

He stopped in the middle of an aisle.

What  _ was  _ he trying to say?

_ Hey, Cas. I like you. _

Well, yeah. But that was what he wanted any gift to say to anyone, with the exact nuance of  _ like  _ kind of changing each time. This one, he wanted it to be more special. He wanted it to say something that Cas really, really wanted to hear, or needed to hear from him. He wanted it to say how  _ much  _ Dean liked him. How much he hoped that they - that in the future, they -

Dean swallowed. He kept pushing away thoughts of the future, of a time beyond the concert. But they kept creeping up on him, anyway. And he knew that Cas had obligations, shows he had to perform at, places he had to be. But he couldn’t help wanting… he didn’t even know.

If Dean’s work was going to take him out of state after the concert, but Cas was going to be here in Austin, Dean would cancel the work. He knew that much.

But it was different for Cas. He wasn’t just a mechanic. He had people relying on those shows to happen, to be able to make their living. He had thousands of people hoping to see him in the shows, too. People who cared about him, some who would be heartbroken if he left them.

Being left by Cas could probably do that.

Maybe what Dean really needed was a gift that said what he  _ should  _ be saying, which was,

_ Hey, Cas. I like you. But I understand that you have obligations beyond me, and I am totally cool with you going away and doing whatever after the concert, because I’m real relaxed about this thing that’s going on between us. _

What said that? What said,  _ you can go anywhere, I’m good? _

“Hi, there, can I help you with anything, Sir?” said a peppy voice. Dean looked down to see a tired-looking Walmart employee staring at him with some concern.

“Yeah,” Dean said, “Uh… where’s your gift card section?”

***

“Hey, uh - oh, no, don’t put that there, there’s room in the fridge - hey, Dean, what’s up?”

“Hey, Sam. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just making sure the last groceries are all in the right place for tomorrow. You’re still coming early tomorrow, right?”

Dean, lying flat on his bed with his phone pressed to his ear, winced as he remembered.

“Oh, right, yeah. Yeah, sure. Uh, how early is early, then?”

“Mmm… I don’t know. Like, eleven in the morning?”

“Oh, dude, that’s fine.”

“Cool. I meant, you know, early for the dinner that we’re gonna be having, not  _ early  _ early.”

“Right, yeah, ‘course.”

The conversation between them was definitely stilted. Dean swallowed. Of course, conversations with his brother had felt stilted for months, even years, now - but he was fairly certain that only he had really noticed it, most of the time. But now, Sam was absolutely aware of it - Dean could hear it in the tone of his voice, just a bit too careful.

“I wanted to ask,” he said, “Is it okay if I bring along someone else too?”

“Oh… well, we did buy a huge-ass amount of food, actually. So if you wanted to bring, I dunno, literally everyone you know, then we could probably just about mop it all up.”

Dean chuckled. “Okay. Well, it’s Charlie, actually. And I know she’s small, but I guarantee she will eat all of us under the table.”

“There’s no way she could take me,” Sam said, and then he went quiet, and Dean could practically feel the gears whirring in Sam’s head - thinking about Charlie. About how he knew Charlie was gay. About how Dean had introduced him to Charlie. If Dean was any judge, Sam was currently getting annoyed at himself for not having figured Dean out sooner.

“Maybe not,” Dean said, trying to move past it. “I don’t know if anyone could ever match the ribs incident of two thousand and nine.”

“Dude… do not. You know I can’t even think about it.”

“It was beautiful,” Dean said.

“It was the reason I started eating better,” Sam said. “No greasy fatty foods. And I have never once looked back.”

“Maybe once,” Dean said.

“Not even.”

“Mmm…?”

“Well… fine. I ate two burgers last month. But that was  _ only  _ because everywhere else was closed, it was right after I just finished a big project at -”

“Sam, Sam, there’s no need to justify yourself,” Dean said, with a huge grin on his face, knowing it would only wind up Sam more quickly to hear it.

“I’m not justifying! I’m just saying...”

“Uh-huh.” Dean couldn’t help the grin sticking on his face. Even with all the crap and the complications, sometimes it really was as simple as being able to screw with your brother’s head just a little bit, like they’d always done.

“Whatever.” Sam sounded as though he knew he’d been taken for a ride, and he’d quite enjoyed it. “Are your friends bringing gifts, by the way? Do we need to get them anything?”

“Uh… don’t know. I think… I think Cas might be bringing something. Just a bottle of wine, probably. You don’t need to give him anything. If you wanna get something for Charlie then do it, but she’ll probably not think to bring anything with her, so…”

“Cool. I’ll just give them a festive… time.”

“Sounds awesome.” Dean took a breath, and then made a plunge. “So, actually, about Cas.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Uh, I just wanted to say… if you realise that he’s, uh… hmm.” How was he supposed to say this without actually saying it, per the terms of his NDA? “If you realise... anything about him… while he’s at the house tomorrow… just, uh, just don’t say anything, okay?”

“Realise anything?” Sam repeated, sounding amused.

“You know, like… with what I told you, and stuff… I can’t really talk about it properly. But if you figure anything out about him, with what I told you is happening… just be cool about it, and don’t ask him any questions, okay?”

“What you told me?”

“Sam. Seriously?”

“ _ Oh. _ ” Sam seemed to have had a light-bulb moment. “Oh, he’s - him - and you - right, right, right. Okay.” He sounded oddly excited - not that it was odd to be excited that a superstar was coming for Christmas dinner, but just not excited in the way that Dean would have expected Sam to sound. He couldn’t put his finger on what was off, though, so he shrugged the thought away.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! No third degree, I swear.”

“Awesome. Okay. Awesome.” Dean breathed out. That was one thing off his list of worries: Sam wouldn’t blow up over Cas’ identity spontaneously in the middle of dinner, or anything remotely similar. He wondered if he should also bring up the fact that he and Cas were… well, friends alone wasn’t quite the way Dean would describe it, if he was telling the whole truth. But, he thought now, maybe he’d actually made a good choice. Maybe it was better for Sam to think that they were friends coming to the house, so he wouldn’t act super weird around Cas and get freaked out by the first time Dean brought a guy over. Maybe it was better to let him realise what their relationship was, himself, and realise how great Cas was at the same time, and that way he’d see how natural and easy it all really was.

Dean didn’t know how he would even explain it, anyway. It wasn’t as though he and Cas were using any kind of label for their relationship right now.

“Cool,” Sam said. “Well, I’m gonna go wrap up some presents.”

“Same. Uh…” Dean looked over at the gift card sitting on his bedside table. “Yeah.”

“Right. See ya tomorrow at eleven, then.”

“See ya.”

They hung up, and Dean immediately texted Charlie the address and the time. Then, he tapped over to his message thread with Cas.

_ > hey so we’re gonna have to get to my brother’s at about 11. I can pick you up at like 10.15 from your hotel _

Cas came back after ten seconds with a fire emoji, a present emoji, a Christmas tree emoji, and a sparkle emoji. Dean looked down at them for a long, long moment, and then snorted, and rolled his eyes, and put his phone down. 

He had everything that he needed for tomorrow, didn’t he? He’d had Sam’s present sorted since August - a spiraliser and a cookbook full of healthy recipes with spiralised kale or quinoa or tofu, toffee, whatever. Dean was assuming a few other Winchester Christmas regulars would be there, and had got them gifts. He had Charlie covered; he knew she was going to San Diego Comic Con next year, and he was giving her a check to pay for one of her photo ops. And Cas…

Dean stared at the gift card. It was for Bed Bath & Beyond. He’d kind of panicked.

He got up, found his wrapping paper, scissors, and sticky tape in the next room, and came back to his bed to wrap up the card. It was an okay gift, wasn’t it? Cas could use it pretty much anywhere in the US, and get himself something nice. It was for twenty-five dollars, because more than that had felt like a lot to put on a gift card, somehow. And twenty-five would be enough for Cas to get himself a… a towel set, or a nice hand-mirror.

Or a spatula. That could be really nice.

Dean finished wrapping the card, and dropped his head into his hands. At that moment, he heard a knock at his door.

He frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone, was he? Cas was back in his hotel, as far as Dean knew. Charlie was meeting friends and going out for Christmas Eve - she’d invited Dean to join, and he was still tempted to meet them at The Refuge later. Part of him really didn’t want to be hungover for Christmas Day, though, not this year. It might be the only chance he ever got to enjoy Christmas with Cas, after all. He wanted to feel good all the way through the day, and not like he had sandpaper inside his head. He knew if he went out, shots would be on the house, and he’d have too many and feel like garbage -

The knock came again, more stridently. Dean blinked, remembering why he’d been thinking about Charlie in the first place. He got up off the bed and headed round to his front door. If this was her, he’d have to tell her that he wasn’t going out tonight, however much she wanted him to. And if it was Cas… Dean couldn’t help smiling just at the thought of Cas coming to find him at his apartment, spontaneously. He reached the door and flung it open, and standing there watching him with a cool expression on her face was Jody Mills.

“Dean,” she said crisply, as the smile slid off Dean’s face like undercooked spaghetti down a wall.

“Jody,” he replied blankly. “Uh… hey. Come in?”

“Thanks,” she said. She was looking a little more casual than usual, all her clothes stretchy or loose and comfortable. As she entered the apartment, she sent a quick, sharp glance left and right, checking out what she saw.

“Nice place,” she said.

“Yeah, I… yeah,” Dean said, a little lamely. “Uh, can I get you anything to drink, or…?”

“No, no. Thanks, though. I’m actually just on my way to the airport. I thought I’d stop in because I’ve just now become aware that you and Castiel will be spending tomorrow together.”

Her gaze became hawkish, fixed on Dean’s own. Dean breathed out a little. So, she didn’t know about Dean’s almost-slip with the NDA and Sam. He had no idea how she  _ would  _ have known, but somehow it felt as though she knew every bad thing he’d ever done, including the time he’d shaved off Sam’s eyebrow accidentally when he’d been six. Two-year-old Sam hadn’t been bothered, but Jody’s stare still promised recriminations.

“Right,” Dean said, nodding, trying not to seem too nervous or awkward. “Right, yeah, he is.”

“You must have something special planned, if he cancelled his flight to Alaska,” Jody said.

“Ah… nah, not really. Just dinner at my brother’s place. There’s gonna be a few of us there, just a standard… you know… family thing.”

“Okay. Well, I just wanted to tell you. He likes white chocolate best. You know, the really sugary stuff. So if you have any of that, then… make sure he has some.” She looked down at the ground.

She was going to miss him, Dean realised suddenly. He remembered what Cas had said about how usually, his backstage team didn’t have time to fly home to spend the holidays with their family. She must have spent years celebrating with Cas. And now she was going to miss him.

“I’ll make sure,” Dean said. She looked up at him, gaze flickering briefly from Dean’s left to his right eye.

“Don’t make him sing,” she said. “If he doesn’t want to.”

_ Make him sing?  _ Dean thought to himself, slightly baffled, but out loud he just said,

“I won’t.”

“I just don’t know if this is a good idea,” Jody said, putting her hand on her hip. “Maybe it’s not too late to get him a plane ticket to come with us.”

Dean felt a swoop in his gut. If Jody asked - would Cas choose to go with her? And would he do it because he really would prefer to be with Jody and Donna for Christmas, or would he do it because he’d be able to see how much the idea of spending Christmas without him seemed to be freaking out Jody?

“I’ll make sure he has a good time,” Dean said, hoping that he didn’t sound too worried. Jody shrugged, her lips thin.

“I just want him to have a good Christmas,” she said. “And if you - if you, you know…”

“He’ll be okay with me,” Dean said. He’d meant it to sound easygoing and reassuring, and wasn’t sure he quite hit the right tone.

“Oh, yeah? You know that for sure, do you?” Jody said. “Okay, then, wise-guy, what’s he allergic to?”

“Cherries,” Dean said.

Jody said nothing for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek, and then she looked away.

“Okay,” she said. “That was impressive. I’ll give you that one.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow to himself, his fist curling into a loosely clenched fist of victory at his side. Score one for the Winchester Hopefuls versus the Mills Sceptics. When he looked back at Jody, though, he saw the conflict on her face and groaned internally. He was going to have to say something. He schooled his expression into seriousness and shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Hey,” he said. “Look, I know it’s been a few years that he’s spent Christmas with you guys. And I know you’re all pretty much family at this point, and I’m just some random guy.”

Jody’s hardness seemed to crack like an egg. Her head went on one side, her lips pulling tight.

“It’s not - you’re - it’s just -”

“I get it,” Dean said. “I do. It’s just - this is - I mean, I might not get another, uh.”

They stared at each other for a long, strained moment - two people who both apparently hated talking about what they were feeling, forced to try to communicate with each other. Dean had heard the phrase  _ Hell is other people  _ and had always figured it was probably talking about homophobes and fans of pineapple on pizza, but he was suddenly confronted with a stark truth: two people who were both pretty nice and meant well could still, with total ease, take each other to Hell in a bland apartment in the middle of Austin, Texas.

“Probably better you than that family of his, anyway,” Jody said. “Actually, definitely better you.”

Dean nodded, trying not to look like someone who knew something she didn’t, specifically about Cas’ plans to go to Alaska and see his family, and even more specifically about how those plans had been a complete lie from the start.

“Maybe he wouldn’t have even gone up there,” Jody said, and Dean’s attempts not to look guilty redoubled. “Would’ve missed his flight and ended up spending the day on his own. At least he’s with someone.”

“I’ll make sure he has a good time,” Dean said.

“You take care of him,” Jody said, fiercely.

He nodded.

“You have my number. I’ll give yours to Donna too and she’ll text you so that you can get in contact with her if I’m busy and something goes wrong. If the worst happens and someone figures out who he is, call me  _ immediately. _ ”

“I will.”

“And don’t forget about the white chocolate.”

“White chocolate. No cherries. No singing. Call you.”

Jody held up her finger as though about to tell him off for the slight flippancy in the way Dean had listed off her instructions, and then looked at it, and sighed, and lowered it.

“I don’t… ugh.”

“I get it,” Dean said again. “I’ll take care of him.” And then he grinned, and said, “You gonna tell him to take care of me?”

“I’ll tell him to take care of himself,” Jody said, with a touch of grim humour. “‘Cause I know he’ll take care of you anyway.” She checked the time on her phone, swore, and headed for the door. “Get him a good gift,” she said, as she walked away. “No cherries. White chocolate…”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but she slammed the door. He could hear her running down the steps and away.

He turned back to face his empty apartment, feeling as though a whirlwind had just gone over him. It made something move in his chest, though, in a good way, to see someone so clearly and so firmly in Cas’ corner. It sometimes felt, talking to Cas, as though he’d been completely on his own all this time. And maybe sometimes Cas himself even thought of it that way. But the look in Jody’s eyes, the ferocity over small preferences, the inability to articulate how she cared - that was family, in the way Dean understood it best. Cas had family.

That was good. And what Jody had said, about Cas taking care of Dean - about how she knew he would do that, without being asked. That felt important. Cas had always seemed to have his heart in the right place, and it had always felt as though his intentions weren’t selfish, and that was what had attracted Dean to him so hard in the first place, or at least it was a big part of it - and it was good to have that feeling confirmed by someone so close to Cas. 

Cas was a good one. He was  _ good.  _ And he - and he liked Dean, or at least he did for now. How Dean had got that lucky, he’d never know. He just had to enjoy it while he could.

Lucky. Dean frowned, and looked over at the guitar still sitting on his sofa. Maybe he could have another crack at that song. The worst case scenario was just that he turned up to Sam’s with the gift card for Cas instead, after all. Trying to get down some lyrics wouldn’t hurt anyone. He had a kind of an idea, a half of one.

Pulling out his phone, he hesitated for a second, and then tapped through to his messages with Jo Harvelle.

_ > Hey do you still do poker nights down at the refuge?  _

It was just an idea. It didn’t matter if it didn’t work out, he told himself. There was always the gift card, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I JUST REALISED that this chapter takes us over the 100k mark. I'M JUST. My fics always tend to run longer than I ever expected but this!!! This is a new high/low depending on how you look at it!!! DAMN. I'm so excited for what's left of the story - I reckon we're about 75-80% of the way through now. BUT I MEAN. WHO KNOWS. JFFHDHFDJFFGHGH. I haven't written the ending yet so it's entirely possible that another ten chapters will spring up out of nowhere like HYDRA HEADS SPITTING BURNING POISON and by burning poison I mean SLOWBURN POISON. Poison that SLOWS THE BURN. What am I even talking about. But yes, as we get closer to the end of the story, I'll mention roughly how long there is left so that the ending doesn't take all of us by surprise.
> 
> Until next week!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be August but it's TIME TO GET FESTIVE in fanfic land!! DECK THE HALLS WITH BOUGHS OF FANFIC. The next chapter will go up in a week - next Friday, on the 20th August!

Dean pulled up outside Sam’s place, and Cas made a noise of surprise.

“It’s big,” he said.

“Sam’s a lawyer,” Dean reminded him, and Cas’ frown cleared.

“Ah,” he said.

“He’s not a dick, though.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Yeah.” Dean looked over at Cas, and smiled. “You ready for this?”

When Dean had arrived outside Cas’ hotel half an hour earlier to pick him up, Cas had been standing out on the sidewalk, waiting for him by the kerb. He’d had a big bag of neatly wrapped gifts held in front of him, and expression that walked the border between excited and distinctly worried. The whole ride over, Cas had barely said a word to him. And now, he was starting to look pale.

“Yes,” Cas said, but he didn’t sound sure. Dean turned more fully, and raised his eyebrows. Cas looked back defiantly for a few seconds, and then rolled his eyes and looked away. “Fine. I’m slightly nervous. But I’m ready.”

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Dean said. “Seriously. No one’s gonna eat you.”

“So you’re not nervous at all?”

Dean opened his mouth to answer quickly, and then Cas raised his eyebrows. Dean stopped, his mouth struggling to form words of confidence that wouldn’t come.

“Okay,” he said. “You got me. But hey… this is my first time seeing my brother since I told him I’m... bi and I’m singing in a concert. You, you just have to smile and you’ll be golden. And if anything goes wrong, we’ll run.”

“We should have a code word,” Cas said, and then seemed to pull back. “No. That’s stupid.”

“The code word,” Dean said, “is… hula hoop.”

Cas leaned across the car, and put his hand to Dean’s cheek, and kissed him. And with anyone else, it would have just been a sweet thing, Dean thought, with anyone else it would have been cute and lovey-dovey. But with Cas, somehow even just a quick kiss in a cold car was dizzying and special and important and barely sweet at all because Dean felt it so much.

“What was that for?” he said.

“For hula hoop,” Cas said. He hadn’t moved far away.

“Damn,” Dean said, moving back in, “I should say hula hoop more often around you.”

Cas was smiling as they kissed, this time, and the smile didn’t fade, and the kiss was all the better for knowing how happy Cas was. Dean knew they should go inside - they were already running a little late with the traffic and Sam would be inside expecting them to come in and help with the preparations for dinner - but when Cas moved closer like that, when he stopped smiling and put both hands on Dean’s face as he kissed him as though concentrating hard on it, when Dean put his hand on Cas’ shoulder and Cas hummed his approval -

_ Knock knock knock. _

They broke apart, Cas starting with surprise. Peering in at them through the window was a familiar face. Dean cursed involuntarily, and covered his mouth with one hand.

“Dean,” said Missouri Mosely, her voice muffled from the outside of the car, “Sam says you should come inside. The tree needs decorating and the lights need putting up, and he wants to get started on cutting the vegetables early, and I’m busy making eggnog so I can’t help with that. And he says that Ed and Harry won’t stop playing board games, and they only listen to you. And you know I’d happily get them to stop but he said he doesn’t want a repeat of last year, and...” She shifted her gaze, looking instead at Cas. 

“Hello,” he said, half-lifting a hand.

She smiled. 

“Hi, honey. Oh…” Her face dropped, and she came a little closer to the window of the Impala. “I’m sorry about what happened in high school. You know it wasn’t your fault, don’t you?”

_ Crap _ , Dean thought.

“Give him a second before you start that up, Missouri,” Dean said, clapping Cas on the shoulder, who had gone very still. “It’s just a cold reading,” he muttered. “We all went through shit in high school. She means well. Don’t let it get to you.”

Cas said nothing. Missouri lifted her hand in a little wave, and then headed back into Sam’s house.

“Um,” Cas said.

“Well,” Dean said, “that’s one way to rip the band-aid off, as far as coming out to Missouri goes, I guess.”

“She… what - what she just said...”

Dean sighed inwardly. How to explain Missouri Mosely?

“She’s a psychic, as her job,” Dean said. “She was a friend of our parents. She took care of us a lot after, uh. After our parents died.” Cas didn’t seem to know what to say. “She’s nice,” Dean added. “I swear. And she’ll stop saying stuff, uh, like that... if you want her to. You just have to say so.”

“She’s a psychic,” Cas said.

“Yeah… you know. I mean, I guess… do you believe in that stuff?”

“I’ve never really had to think about it before.”

“Well. I think it’s a bunch of… I mean, okay, I think she’s real good at reading people and making good guesses and saying the right thing. She always means to help. That’s all that matters, s’far as I’m concerned.” Dean offered an encouraging smile, mentally cursing Sam for sending Missouri - of all the Christmas regulars - out to fetch them. The one most guaranteed to freak out a stranger. “Come on,” he said bracingly. “Let’s get in there.”

Cas shook his head, as though to try to dislodge the oddness of the past few minutes. He cleared his throat, and wrapped his hands around the bag of gifts in his lap with his knuckles pale and tense, and nodded.

“Let’s go,” he said. 

He got out of the car. As he went, Dean reached surreptitiously into the inside pocket of his jacket and felt for Cas’ gift. It was still there, and he breathed a sigh of relief: just a small, wrapped-up card. He swallowed hard. Giving it to Cas was probably going to be a mistake, but it had been the best he could come up with, in the end.

He got out of the car, and retrieved his own sack of presents from the trunk. With their gift bags slung over their shoulders like cut-price Santas, they walked up the drive to Sam’s house.

It was a two-storey place with a porch, and a set of fancy-looking steps that led up to it. Dean climbed them and tapped on the shining wood door, which Missouri had closed behind her.

“Should we sing?” Cas said. Dean started.

“Sing?”

“You know, like carollers.”

Dean swallowed hard. Just the picture of Sam’s face if he opened the door to Dean singing a happy little Christmas carol… 

“Nah,” Dean said. “We’ll, uh, save that for later.”

“Alright.”

The door was flung open, and there framed in the doorway was Sam. It was only when he laid eyes on his brother that Dean realised how long it had been since the last time they’d hung out; Sam’s hair had grown. He came out of the doorway, and pulled Dean into an abrupt, tight hug.

“Whoa - holy - what -”

“It’s good to see you,” Sam said. His voice was terse, and Dean could hear the emotion behind it. He softened his pose, letting himself be hugged, smiling over Sam’s shoulder. They never hugged. It didn’t feel wrong, though.

“It’s good to see you too,” Dean said, clapping Sam on the back. Sam let go, using the flat of his hand to smack Dean’s shoulder.  _ Manly shoulder smack,  _ Dean thought to himself, recognising one of his own go-to moves when he felt like he’d shown a little bit too much.

“Happy Christmas,” Sam said, grinning at him, and then he looked over at Cas. “And this must be Cas.” He looked Cas up and down. It looked as though her were assessing Cas for suitability. “Hi, Cas. Nice to meet you.”

He held out his hand, and Cas shifted the bag of presents in his grip to be able to take it. They shook hands warmly enough. 

“I hope you came ready to help out,” Sam said. “There’s so much shit to do.”

“I’m always ready to help,” Cas replied, which appeared to meet with Sam’s approval. He glanced between Cas and Dean a couple of times, and then waved them inside.

“Come on in, then,” he said. “Uh, we’ve got Missouri making the eggnog, and - Dean, can you go and talk to Ed and Harry? They’re supposed to be putting up the lights but all they’re doing is playing Monopoly and yelling at each other, and if I let Missouri loose on them again, we’ll be in for another half-year of arguing.”

“Say no more,” Dean said. “Uh, Cas, why don’t you come with me…”

“Actually, I was thinking Cas could come and help me in the kitchen,” Sam said. “Jess is making the dessert so I thought he could help out with the chopping.”

There was some kind of glint in Sam’s eye that told Dean argument would prove awkward if not impossible. He gave Sam a look all the same, which was met with bland and studied cheeriness. Dean narrowed his eyes, and Sam widened his, the image of innocence. Was this happening because Sam knew Cas was an international superstar? Was he trying to corner Cas for an autograph? Dean’s eyes narrowed harder. Sam made a more genuine expression of reassurance, tinged with some brotherly exasperation.

Cas was looking lost in all the facial nuance.

“I can help chop,” he said, sounding as though he wasn’t entirely sure he could.

“Great!” Sam said. “Come on, it’s through here. Dean, go on through. They’re in the lounge. When’s Charlie getting here?”

“She said at twelve. So she should make it by about two,” Dean said dryly, watching Sam put a hand on Cas’ shoulder and lead him away. 

“Well, alright.”

“I’ll text and tell her to be on time,” Dean said, knowing in his heart that the text would fall on deaf ears. Charlie never meant to be late, after all. It wasn’t something she could solve by trying harder. Time just got away from her.

“It’s cool. Whenever she gets here is good.” Sam and Cas rounded a corner, and were gone. Dean stared after them for a few seconds.

“He’s a nice boy,” Missouri said, emerging from the laundry room to one side of the hall with a big ladle in her hand. Dean grinned at her, and then went in for a hug. “Oh... oh, Dean. I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”

“I told you not to do your thing on me,” Dean said, pulling away from the hug and standing up straight, still smiling. “Nice job you did on Cas, back there.”

“He has a lot of pain,” Missouri said.

“And a happy Christmas to you, too.”

She gave him a look, and then held up her ladle. 

“Try this.”

He gave it a taste.

“Could do with a bit more kick,” he said. She nodded seriously.

“I thought so.”

She walked away, and Dean turned to go into the lounge. Sam’s house was big, but Dean had spent enough time in it to know his way around easily. The lounge was his favourite room. Bookshelves lined two of the walls, a third was panelled with floor-to-ceiling windows, and the fourth had framed photos up: ones of Sam and Jess, ones of Dean, ones of the brothers together, ones of their friends, and ones of their parents. Dean nodded his usual barely-there hello to his favourite picture on the wall: the one of his mom sitting at the seaside at sunset, looking into the camera with a gentle smile. Dean remembered taking that picture.

“Spangler and Co aren’t selling.” Dean’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice from across the room. On one of the big, comfy sofas, two men were sitting and staring down at a board, surrounded by paper notes, that was resting on a coffee table.

“Spangler and Co are about to go bankrupt, so they better change their minds!”

“Spangler and Co deny all allegations of bankruptcy.”

“Sell me Boardwalk, Harry, or I’m going to -”

“Going to what, Ed? Put another house on Mediterranean Avenue? Oh, I’m  _ quaking _ .”

“You -”

“Hey, guys,” Dean said, striding across the room and shoving his hands in his pockets. He’d forgotten to take his jacket off in the hall. He felt like the cut of it gave him a bit of extra gravitas, though. It was a nice jacket, one that he’d forgotten he’d bought months ago and discovered at the back of his closet when he was getting dressed. “Whatcha doin’?”

“I’m trying to get Harry to understand that he’s lost the game,” Ed Zeddmore said.

“I haven’t,” Harry Spangler retorted. “I’m winning.”

“Happy Christmas to both of you,” Dean said, with a touch of weariness. Both of them blinked.

“Uh… happy Christmas,” Ed muttered.

“Happy… yeah,” Harry echoed half-heartedly.

“You guys promised after last year that you wouldn’t upset Missouri again, or Sam. And I hear you’ve been playing this game all morning instead of putting up the Christmas lights, huh?”

“They’re not the boss of us,” Harry said.

“Yeah. Not the boss of us.”

“Uh huh.” Dean’s gaze flicked between the pair of them. Neither of them had changed much at all from when he’d met them for the very first time; a pair of dumbasses at Sam’s high school, and the only two of Sam’s friends who had turned up to Mary and John’s funeral. And they’d said at the time it was just because they were interested in recording footage in case any spirits manifested in the church, but somehow that had made Sam smile for the first time after the crash - and they hadn’t recorded a single moment throughout the service. They’d just stood there and been there. The only time Dean had known them to be quiet in their entire history of acquaintance.

“We don’t work for them,” Harry added insistently.

“Exactly. We’re freelance businessmen,” Ed said. “Not contracted Christmas electricians.”

“Mmm. Right.” Dean paused, and then in one swift movement he leaned down and swept up a few of the piles of paper notes sitting on the table - not the ones in front of Harry or Ed, the ones on the far side of the board.

“Hey!”

“What are you -”

“Now, if I’m not wrong,” Dean said, riffling thoughtfully through the fake money, “this is all the money in the bank, right?” 

“Yeah, so put it back, you jerk!”

“And that makes me the banker,” Dean said calmly. “As in, the one in charge. As in…” He made direct eye contact with first Harry, and then Ed. “... Your boss.”

Both of them started talking at once. Dean held up his hand to stymy their protests.

“Rules are rules,” he said. They settled down, just a little. “Now, Christmas lights.”

They looked mutinous - but they got up, and went over to the boxes of Christmas lights. Dean watched after them with a satisfied expression on his face. He put the paper money back down on the table. He wondered whether it’d be too helicopter-ish to go and find Cas, now. Sam had been giving pretty clear signals that he wanted to get Cas on his own for some reason - but Cas had been nervous coming into the house, and he couldn’t say  _ hula hoop  _ if Dean wasn’t there to hear it.

Well, Dean thought as he made his way back across the hall and towards the kitchen, he  _ could  _ say it, but he wouldn’t get the reaction he was hoping for.

The kitchen was a warm, steaming bustle of activity. It was a comforting kind of room, all wood-panelled cupboards and burnished gold handles; Dean knew that Sam had been wanting to do it up for ages, make the cupboards black, have everything more modern-looking - but this suited Dean’s taste just fine. It reminded him of home, somehow, even though he’d never lived anywhere that looked like this.

At the counter island, three people were standing and laughing together: Sam, of course, and Sam’s girlfriend Jess, and on the far side there was Cas. And Cas looked significantly more relaxed than he had done, coming into the kitchen. The worry lines around his eyes had gone, and he was talking animatedly while Sam and Jess listened.

“So, then I said to my mother, ‘that’s not how you baste’.” 

“Oh my god,” Jess said. “What did she do?”

“She told me to leave,” Cas said, and from what Dean could tell that wasn’t the happiest development to the story, but something about Cas’ timing and delivery made it funny. Sam and Jess burst out laughing, and Dean smiled. Cas caught sight of him, and the way his expression changed when he noticed Dean -

Dean swallowed. He felt so tall, right now. He didn’t think anyone had ever lit up like that, so visibly, just because Dean had come into the room.

Jess, who had been watching Cas, swivelled to see what he was looking at. When she saw Dean, her eyebrows shot up.

“Everything okay in here, guys?” Dean said, unnecessarily, really, because it was pretty clear that Cas was holding his own.

“Yes,” Cas said, and Dean could hear the relief in his voice.

“We were just hearing all about the last time Cas spent Christmas with his family,” Jess said, coming round the island to give Dean a hug. She had what looked like whipped cream on her fingers, and she held them out wide as Dean gave her a quick squeeze.

“My real family are my coworkers,” Cas said. “They’re who I’ve spent most of my Christmases with for the past while.”

“Huh,” Sam said. “Coworkers? You couldn’t pay me to spend Christmas with the people I work with. And believe me, they try to do that.”

Dean approached the counter island as Jess went back to assembling her dessert, taking a peek at the food they were making. Cas was chopping potatoes; Sam was doing something Dean didn’t want to think about too hard to a turkey; Jess, meanwhile, was concocting a frothy, creamy delight studded with red berries and covered with sprinkles.

“I’m a coworker,” Jess pointed out to Sam.

“You are?” Cas asked politely. Jess launched into an explanation of how she and Sam had met when they’d started working together at the same law firm. Dean, who had heard it before, tuned out ever so slightly; Sam, meanwhile, leaned over to Dean.

“Cas seems great,” he said.

Dean nodded, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot as he did so.

“I’m glad you brought him. Glad you felt like you could,” Sam said.

“Well, you know,” Dean said, not really sure how to answer that. “I just thought it’d be cool for you to meet him. Ever since he asked me to do the thing, I’ve been kinda wondering what you’d make of him, honestly.”

“Asked you to do the thing?” Sam repeated, looking puzzled. Jess was still in full flow on the other side of the island, and Cas was nodding along.

“You know… he asked me… to do the thing.” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“He asked you - wait -  _ what _ ?”

“Yeah?” Dean said, confused by Sam’s bafflement. Sam already knew that Cas was the one who’d asked Dean to come to the auditions - Dean had told him as much, or at least heavily hinted at it over the phone - so why was he acting like this was news? His face was a picture of astonishment. “You… I told you this already.”

“You did not,” Sam said. “You just said he was… you know.”

“I mean, you could’ve put it together.” 

“Uh… not really,” Sam said. “Like… not really, Dean. So... he asked you? And you said yes?”

“Yeah,” Dean said impatiently, “obviously. Otherwise it wouldn’t be happening in, like, a week.”

“A  _ week _ ?” Sam said.

“Guys,” Jess said, “stop whispering over there.” Dean looked up guiltily.

“We weren’t whispering,” he said, at the same time as Sam said the same thing. Jess laughed, and Cas was smiling.

“Sure,” she said. “Babe, can you come and help me get this into the back fridge?”

Sam followed Jess out of the room, clearing the way for her as she balanced her dessert carefully on its stand, taking it to the fridge in the back room. Dean looked over at Cas, and then moved around the island to stand next to him.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hello,” Cas said. And they caught each other’s eyes, and neither of them  _ said  _ ‘do you come here often’, but it was so loud in their thoughts that they might as well have spoken it; they both smiled. Cas leaned back against the counter, and Dean moved a little closer. There was something about having Cas here, in the heart of Dean’s family - and him getting on with them, taking the time to listen to their stories and chop vegetables with them, even though he was a superstar who didn’t remotely have to be here - there was something about it that made Cas just so, so attractive.

“You’ve got skills with a blade, I see,” Dean said, leaning past Cas to nudge the kitchen knife, and then just leaving his hand there on the counter, so that he was right up in Cas’ space. Cas, his eyes warm and relaxed, dipped his head and looked down at the ground. 

“I’m learning,” he said, and then glanced up at Dean just a touch coyly. 

Dean’s brain turned to a puddle.

“God,” Dean said, “I’m so into you.”

The words just came out, unable to go unsaid when the feeling was so pressing and so immediate. Dean felt his ears going pink as soon as they were out of his mouth. Cas’ expression lost its quiet artfulness, dropped into genuine surprise.

“Well,” he said, “thank you.”

“Guys,” said Jess, coming back into the room; Dean pulled away from Cas quickly - too quickly, as though he’d been burned, and then realised that he hadn’t needed to do that, and felt himself sink into flustered confusion. “Uh… I was just going to say, Ed and Harry might need some help with the lights.”

“Cool,” Dean said, trying to act normal. “Cool. Great. Yeah. Good. I’ll go… do that.” He headed straight out of the kitchen without looking back at Cas, his cheeks burning. Was Cas hurt by how fast Dean had leapt away from him? Or did he understand that it was just years of habit that were hard to shake? He felt as though Cas would get it, but also be a little hurt by it, which was somehow worse. He’d make it up to Cas later, he thought. It’d be okay.

As he crossed the hall, there was a knock on the front door; Dean peered left and right, saw no one else coming to answer it, shrugged, and went to get it himself. When he opened it, he felt his mouth fall open.

“Dean?”

It was really him.

“Gordon,” Dean said blankly. Because there, on the front porch of his brother’s house, was Gordon Walker. The same Gordon Walker he’d gone to high school with. The same Gordon Walker he’d admired from afar for months. “You, uh. You’re here?”

“Yeah, I… your brother didn’t tell you?”

“He didn’t,” Dean said numbly.

“Guess it was a surprise,” Gordon said. He was still an incredibly handsome guy, Dean noted. He had a kind of beard and moustache thing going on that made him look sharp as hell. And those eyes of his were still solemn and deep and thoughtful, with a slight edge.

“You can say that again,” Dean said, and remembered his manners, and stood aside to let Gordon inside. “Uh, come on in… happy Christmas, man.”

“Thanks. Same to you.” Gordon handed him a bottle of wine. “Your brother invited me along. I don’t usually do Christmas in a big way but I thought, you know, it could be a chance to catch up.” He caught Dean’s eye.

_ Uh oh,  _ thought Dean. He was getting some kind of vibe from Gordon. Almost like an expectation. Like something should already be happening between them, or being said, right now.

“Catch up,” Dean echoed awkwardly. “Right. Yeah. Totally. Uh, well, it’s pretty early for the celebrations, but I think the guys are kinda through that way in the lounge. Make yourself at home. I’m gonna go put this wine in the, uh, in the fridge.”

“It’s a red,” Gordon said. “Don’t do that.”

“Red,” Dean said, backing away and nodding. “Red. I mean, right. Right, red. Yeah. Back in… one sec.”

He took the shortcut from the corridor straight to the back room, where Sam was standing and looking pensively down at a few different six-packs of beers. Dean thudded the bottle of wine down on the nearest surface and went over to Sam, grabbing his shoulder to spin him around.

“Whoa, Dean, what the f-”

“Gordon Walker,” Dean said, through gritted teeth, in a low voice. “Is in the lounge.”

“Ah.” 

“As in, Gordon Walker, the guy I told you I had a crush on in high school. He’s in the lounge.”

“Right.” 

“He brought a bottle of wine. How… how the…  _ explain.” _

Sam swallowed. He didn’t look surprised.

“Well,” he said, and he had his calm-explanation voice on, which told Dean all too clearly that Sam knew he’d messed up. “After you told me… about things… I thought that, you know, I’d just check to see what Gordon was up to and, uh, if he was, uh, single, and it said on Facebook that he was. And then it also said that he was interested in dating men, so I just… I thought… I reached out to him and I mentioned how you’d always, uh, looked up to him in high school, and -”

“Jesus Christ. Who are you? Seriously? Is this an episode of iCarly? You don’t do shit like this.”

“I thought you’d… I thought…”

“You thought,” Dean said, “that it’d be a really great idea to invite my teen crush to your house at the same time as me and Cas, without telling me.”

“Happy Christmas,” Sam said weakly. “Look, Dean, I just wanted you to know that - I wanted to do something to show that I’m totally, like, that - I mean, about you… uh...”

Dean blinked. 

He could see it, now. Sam trying to figure out a way to let Dean know that he was totally cool about the whole bi thing, but without having to use more words, because words were hard. Sam not being able to think of a single thing. Sam stalking Gordon’s Facebook, and finding that single thing in more ways than one.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean let out a long sigh that ended on a kind of groan of despair.

“Dean,” Sam said, “I should have cancelled on him but I swear to god, when I did it, I had no idea that you were en-”

“Dean?” Cas stuck his head around the door from the kitchen into the back room. Sam and Dean both turned to look at him. “You two have the same guilty face,” Cas said. “I finished chopping the carrots. Is it okay if I go and help with the lights for a bit?”

“Yep,” Sam said, in a voice that was slightly too high-pitched to be normal.

Cas nodded, looking slightly confused, and then he left the back room.

Sam and Dean turned to look at each other.

“I’ll fix it,” Sam said. “I can fix it.”

He followed Cas out of the back room. Dean stood there in the quiet for a few seconds, thinking to himself,  _ hula hoop hula hoop hula hoop.  _ He didn’t even know how he felt about seeing Gordon again after all these years - a Gordon who was interested in men and was, apparently, judging by the way he’d looked at Dean as they’d greeted each other, maybe a little bit interested in Dean, too. Fifteen-year-old Dean was punching the air. Current Dean was utterly horrified.

Meanwhile, Cas was here, totally oblivious to the drama. Sam was acting weird. Ed and Harry were Ed and Harry. Missouri was liable to break open the whole thing with a well-placed comment at any time. Charlie, obviously, was late. Jess… 

Well, Jess was doing pretty good. Jess had made a whipped cream dessert. Jess was definitely the least complicated part of the day so far.

What was he even supposed to say to Gordon? It sounded as though Sam had set up the whole thing as a kind of date, or at least Gordon had heard it that way. What was Dean supposed to say to that? What was Dean supposed to say to Cas? And how was he supposed to act natural around Cas when there was someone else at the party who thought  _ he  _ was Dean’s date? Dean took a moment to turn and press his forehead against the door of the back room fridge.

_ Hula hoop hula hoop hula hoop hula hoop. _

Dean patted his pocket. At least his gift to Cas was still in there. The card was safe against his chest. Hopefully, whatever else happened, Cas would like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well dudes let me tell you, the weirdest part of writing this chapter was definitely finding out that American Monopoly doesn't have the same properties as UK Monopoly. Which is obvious, really, but I can't imagine playing Monopoly without Mayfair and Old Kent Road and Fleet Street??? If I used outdated property names, apologies. I am but a Brit trying to make their way in a US-centred fanfic world. One day I'm going to write fic set in the UK and everyone's going to go to Sainsburys and eat mince pies all the time and it's going to be MAGNIFICENT I tell you. I haven't felt the buzz to write fic for good omens but boy if one thing makes it tempting, it's the fact that I could sent Aziraphale to Asda. Or NANDOS. I know so many good food places in London though seriously maybe I'll just write Aziraphale on a food tour.
> 
> Thank you all so so much for reading and being here and sharing this story with me. I am filled with appreciation for you, dearest reader. You are beyond compare. Have a good week!!


End file.
